I'll See You In My Dreams
by My Kate
Summary: Story begins on the night of Sara's DUI. Sara's sleep is transformed from her usual nightmares into an encounter with a mysterious stranger who provides her with comfort. GSR in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fan fic. This idea has been rattling around in my head for some time. This is a GSR piece, but will take some time to get there. Reviews are welcomed. This story begins on the night of Sara's DUI arrest.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to these characters. They do, however, inspire me to tell their story.

_**I'll See You In My Dreams**_

Sara walked alone through the lights and the sounds of a Las Vegas evening. Merrymakers, lovers, and sinners crowded the sidewalk as she made her way to her car. She had bid Nick and the others an exuberant goodbye despite their pleas for her to continue with them to celebrate Nick's promotion. Nick had always been upfront with Sara and she genuinely wished him well. She appeared upbeat, she appeared to have it all together – but she was drowning without a lifeline.

Sara walked alone through the crowds as she suddenly was again overcome by a suffocating reality – she had no one and nothing waiting for her at home. As she passed the neon-plastered liquor store, she fantasized about a lover waiting for her with a goblet of chilled champagne. She imagined his smile, the smoldering gaze meeting her as she entered their living room. Sara shivered at the prospect. The window displays beckoned to her. Sexy smiles and naughty innuendo. She fought back her tears. Before her was displayed life as it could be. But there would be no romantic homecoming for her. She was not worthy of love. Her career had become her life. But there would be no distinguishing herself there, either. Nick's promotion just underscored that failure. She stared at the smiling figures in the liquor ads. They seemed to taunt her – their smiling allure a stark contrast to her withdrawn inadequacy. Suddenly, Sara felt a new resolve form. Listening to the ring of the entrance bell as she pushed the door open, she stepped inside swiftly, passing the rows of bottled relief.

Sara sat in her car observing the Vegas nightlife as she continued to work on unscrewing the top of her purchase. She sat there and thought about her life. The hell of her childhood, the loneliness of her foster care years, the rebellion and solitude of her college years…and her first true love. She swiped at a tear and swigged the bottle vigorously. Grissom. She had loved him practically from the minute she first saw him. Her tears fell and she downed another gulp. Grissom. "Can't live with him, can't live without him.", she quipped and laughed mirthlessly as her latest drink drained the bottle leaving it two-thirds full.

She was beginning to feel lightheaded. She wanted to go home. Home. She laughed again and suddenly was overtaken by horrendous sobs that shook her thin frame. Sara had no place to call home. Home was a warm fire. Home was dinner with a family who loved you. Home was a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving dinner. Sara had never had a home. She gulped another mouthful. Home…was Grissom. Sara sobbed again. Sara wanted so badly to GO HOME. She needed the home Gil Grissom could provide. The warmth, the family, the LOVE…but she was not worthy of his love. At that minute the answer became crystal clear. Gil Grissom would never love Sara Sidle. Sara would never have a home. And she was so tired of trying to make it work alone. There was no longer a reason for her to keep fighting. At that minute, Sara had simply given up on living.

She had made her decision. She was a CSI, she had seen many ways that people had ended their life. She had looked down on them as they rested on a slab in the morgue. On a bad day, she had quietly envied their peaceful state. No more loneliness. No more worry. No more pain. As she drove through the streets, she was oblivious to the lights of the nightlife around her. Sara drove with the determination to get to her apartment and end her pain, her misery. A passerby would have remarked on the amazing calm of her demeanor.

She silently composed her farewell note as she noted the roadside landmarks coming into her view for the last time. Surprisingly, she felt a euphoria about the final release from her torturous personal life. Stopped at a red light, she reached over and upended the bottle on the seat next to her. Before partially emptying its contents as she flung it unceremoniously onto the passenger seat, the bottle's liquid measured halfway up the sides of the glass.

The light overhead had changed to green. "Let's finish this," Sara muttered shakily as she gunned the gas pedal. As Sara pulled out into the intersection, however, the glare of the green light above suddenly transformed into the bright lights in her rearview mirror, blinking menacingly in red and blue.


	2. Chapter 2

Gil Grissom leaned his head wearily against the palms of his tired hands. His elbows were braced at the edge of the desk – there were too many files, evidence photos, and "call back ASAP" notices littering the mahogany terrain to allow much deeper penetration of the surface.

Working a double shift was not uncommon for this workaholic. While on a hot case, co-workers often commented on his stamina and work ethic, his concentration to case details even to the exclusion of events occurring around him, and his emotional detachment - from victims, perpetrators, and fellow CSIs alike. Those CSIs closest to him felt that they had a privileged insight into what made Gil Grissom tick. Those CSIs closest to him would be dead wrong.

There was one CSI, however, who had managed to see through the façade. Sara Sidle had glimpsed the man behind the mask. She had met him before the walls were erected. She had managed to breach the security fence around his heart. She had fallen in love with the tender side of this multifaceted soul.

And he had felt exposed.

And he had succumbed to the fight-or-flight instinct.

And he had wounded her heart.

And in doing so, he had wounded his own.

He sighed as he leaned back into the chair. "_Men __weary__ as much of not doing the things they want to do as of doing the things they do not want to do. – Eric Hoffer_", he thought. He smiled as he considered what it was he would _want _to do right now. Abandon the paperwork, leave the office, and drive to his townhouse. Unlock the door and escape the horrors of his job. Stand and absorb the sights and sounds of a loved one waiting for him. A special person - one who could light up his bleak life just by entering the room, who could ease his tension by her caring attentions, who could erase the pain of the day with that gap-toothed smile…

He shook his head as if to clear it. _"And miles to go before I sleep – Robert Frost"_, he said aloud as he geared up to tackle the reports needed his review and signature. Midway through the first page of the first file on the first pile, however, his thoughts drifted to his weary state. _"Perhaps a vacation," _he thought._ "When things slow down, I'll put in for some time off." _He rested his head on his hands again. _"But they never will slow down, will they?" _He sighed and thought he had never felt so weary in his life. Weary of so many things. "_And no way to make it better," _he sighed.

A half-smile suddenly settled upon his lips. Once upon a time, his mother had shown him a way to "make it better"…

He remembered being nine years old. At that time, it had been four years since his father had abandoned them. His mother's deafness left her young son yearning for the sounds of a normal family life. Hours spent being the "man of the house", interpreting for his mother in their brief trips to town, being her eyes and ears left little opportunity to develop socially with his peers. As all children who acclimate themselves to their current situation, however, Gil was a dutiful son who felt loved – but lonely.

One lazy summer day, he was lounging supine on top of the wide slats of the porch railing quietly conversing with a spider, watching while it was spinning its web. His mother came outside and moved closer to him, intent on signing her concern that he might not feel well. Inadvertently, her movements caused the object of his attention to break apart. The spider went flying into the late afternoon sun and his mother's hands became netted with most of the broken web. Gil remembered he jumped to his feet, startled at the scene before him. At that moment he looked into his mother's eyes – and began to cry.

His mother just stood and stared at the sight. She was unaccustomed to any show of emotion from her pride and joy. He had always been her rock, silently sitting at the foot of her bed as she sometimes succumbed to the weight of her situation, reassuring her with his presence that things would get better. Now, for the first time in recent memory, she really looked at the gangly, curly-headed boy in front of her. She was presented with a young child in need of tender loving care. She stared at him for a moment, and when his liquid gaze met hers, she opened her arms and waited.

He moved into his mother's embrace. In an uncharacteristic move, she pulled them over to the glider and sat with her arm around her son. He rested his head on her shoulder, emptying his soul of the stored treasure of hurt - from the torment of his solitude, from the grief of his father's leaving, and from the helplessness that grew from knowing things would never get any better.

It was then that he first learned about the "Better Place".

After he had collected himself, he remained close to his mother's side as they had rocked effortlessly on the glider. Content to remain in this web of comfort, he was dismayed to find his mother pull away. She surprised him, though, as she didn't move to leave, but to sign in conversation. She told him she understood his unhappiness. She told him she wanted to help him to visit his "Better Place".

Immediately, the frightened child admonished his mother that he would run away from any new place if she sent him away. He begged her to let him stay with her, to let him stay _home_. Home was the place where he could do what he wanted, _be_ what he wanted – feel that he was safe, that someone loved _him_.

His mother calmed his frantic movements. She assured him he would always have a home with her AND he could still visit his "Better Place". Intrigued even at an early age by apparent incongruities in the statements of others, he sat eagerly to hear his mother's response.

So they watched the sky fill with the rosy hues of sunset and his mother described the process of allowing a peace to settle over you as you left the hurts and loneliness right in the place you now stood. She talked about shallow breaths, "in your nose, out your mouth". In following her directions, a calm settled over him – a release from the responsibilities and cares that weighed heavily on his young shoulders. As he relaxed, his eyelids closed softly. His mother jarred him slightly so he could "hear" her conversation, and continued. _"Now, off to the land of imagination,"_ she signed_. "Your better place will be perfect for you, because you will _make_ it perfect for you." _

As the fireflies lighted the nighttime landscaped, the two sat on that glider. His mother's arm draped softly over his shoulder, with Gil only physically present. It was his first encounter with his Better Place.

Over his growing years, Gil Grissom visited his Better Place whenever the pressures and the loneliness were too much to handle. Once he began college, he had found a more expedient outlet for his frustrations as he threw himself into his work. For over twenty years, his Better Place had been abandoned for the frenetic pace of forensics.

Right now, however, Gil was becoming desperate for a way to "make things better". He felt he had made the right decision about career over relationship. But he also knew that a "tough love" approach to his relationship with Sara had hurt her. He was sure her recent bout of manic behavior would end with her becoming happily involved with someone younger. His heart ached at the thought, but he chose again to ignore it.

Still, his career was flourishing, and his personal life…

He needed to make it better. But what if he couldn't get there? What if he had dismissed it for so long, he could no longer return? His heart rate was elevating and he realized he was beginning to hyperventilate.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and slowly breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. He was becoming desperate to get back to his Better Place. _"This won't work if you don't relax,"_ he chastised himself.

A familiar calm was beginning to return. Sensations and elations were bombarding his psyche. The journey had begun. The arrival was imminent. The peace would be welcomed.

However, Gil Grissom was unaware that at this moment, events were beginning to unfold that would eventually make his world better than he ever imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

Sara Sidle had learned several life lessons during her hellish years in foster care.

Having suffered on more than one occasion at the hand of an older, intimidating and aggressive male foster child in one poorly supervised group home, she came to understand at an early age that she was being "used" because she possessed XX chromosomes. One fellow female "foster" called it "the Double Edge". Sara gained firsthand knowledge of the abuses that could be inflicted on a victim possessing the Double Edge.

After one particularly vicious assault, her fellow foster – who was older and had "been around the block" at 15 - felt it incumbent on her to take the naive 12- year-old under her wing. She instructed Sara that the Double Edge could be worked both ways. Sure, sometimes it meant you got used to get what others wanted from you. But if used correctly, the Edge could help _you_ use others to get what YOU wanted.

The choices Sara made in her life did not promote embracing that foster's mindset. Generally, Sara did not see herself as an overtly sexual being. Her dress and mannerisms were usually more modest than the other female CSIs, say, Catherine for instance.

However, when face-to-face with a breatholizer on a busy Vegas side street during the wee hours of the morning, Sara pulled out all the stops. She recognized the rookie patrolman from her visits to the LVPD station. Knowing that several officers made overtures in her direction, Sara knew of her attractiveness to some of the force. Deciding that a DUI arrest would bring unwanted interference to her precarious emotional state, she leaned seductively against the patrol car and gave the officer her best smile.

Trying not to appear tongue-tied, he began to insist on her taking the breathing test. She reached for the mechanism, brushing her hands against his. Allowing her eyes to mist over, she pleaded for understanding. She played the "fellow officer" card and said that the case she just closed had been simply too much to bear, that she realized she may have had a bit too much in an attempt to drown out the scenes that kept recurring in her mind.

After only six months on the force, the rookie could relate. Still, there was the problem of compliance with the regulations regarding DUI stops. If she actually took the test, the meter would have easily read past the legal limit. But since the legal limit was recently reset by the state legislature, this fellow officer decided to cut Sara a break. She breathed a small sigh of relief. She would make it home. She would find her peace. She was not prepared for the officer's next move.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

Sara Sidle leaned her elbows on her knees. Eyes downcast, she shunned the attention of passersby as she sat on the stiff leather loveseat in the LVPD's breakroom. As she focused on a broken fingernail on her right thumb, she rummaged through her other memories from the years spent in foster care. Not all situations had been intolerable. Perhaps in some way it had been she, herself, who had been the intolerable variable in some of those situations.

Memories of one family stay now brought a half-smile to Sara's lips. While the vodka-induced fogginess in her brain began to recede, a vivid scene involving her and her last foster mother replayed in her mind.

Sara had been removed from that first abusive situation, but had suffered clinical depression and withdrawal. She had been moved from home to home, with each family declaring she was too "needy" for them to care for. Finally, she was placed with the Brill's. Mrs. Brill was a delightful woman who loved children and seemed to deeply care for this throwaway child. While initially Sara had refused her overtures, there was something simple and honest about this woman that made Sara pay attention.

One day, she was sitting on the front steps of the modest red brick ranch house. Sara had had a particularly grueling day at her new school, where once again her clothes, her intelligence, and her attitude made her an instant outcast. She sat silently, a forlorn countenance mirroring her soul. Mrs. Brill swung the screen door open quietly and perched on the step next to Sara.

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Mrs. Brill began talking to Sara.

Really talking _to_ her.

Gently attempting to look her right in the eye.

Not accepting Sara's silence.

And for the first time in a long time, Sara did not feel invisible.

Mrs. Brill took hold of Sara's hand softly. Sara did not pull away.

The woman began talking gently to Sara about how she could deal with the difficult situations that the child faced on a daily basis. Her understanding of Sara's plight made a large lump form in the back of Sara's throat. For the first time in years, tears were forming – but not from pain.

These drops were falling because someone was breaking through.

Someone was succeeding in reaching through the protective fortress she had constructed around her heart.

Mrs. Brill had talked with Sara about a personal coping strategy she used when things as a foster mom got to be too much for her to handle. Sara listened intently. She herself had felt that way most days about most aspects of her young life. The woman related to Sara that sometimes she had this selfish need to run away, to be in a better place. Sara was now glued to this woman's face as she spoke.

She understood that desire to runaway, understood it all too well.

Mrs. Brill demonstrated for Sara the relaxation techniques she used to reach her Better Place. Having spent time in this oasis from the worries she experienced, this woman described the serenity in such terms that Sara felt she would simply lose herself forever if she could not find her own way there. The woman stood and whispered softly in Sara's ear before she straightened and went back inside, closing the screen door softly behind her.

As Sara now leaned further, her forearms braced by her knees in the sterile confines of the LVPD breakroom, she recalled feeling empowered by those parting words that even now echoed in her soul: _"Your better place will be perfect for you, because you will_ make_ it perfect for you."_

Soon after their intimate encounter, Mrs. Brill passed away suddenly. It was the last foster home in which Sara would be placed. Almost immediately, she had been accepted for accelerated admission into Harvard. Her life became a tumult of classes and new experiences.

Initially, Sara had visited her Better Place to help her adjust to the overwhelming changes in her life. Once she fully immersed herself in her new life, however, the frenetic pace of college life caused her to abandon those visits.

Now, she leaned even farther on her forearms. Alone and waiting in the LVPD breakroom, she braced herself for the imminent collapse of life as she knew it. A feeling of dread permeated her person. Escape was impossible. She felt her heart rate elevating and she realized she was beginning to hyperventilate.

She leaned back in the loveseat, closed her eyes, and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was becoming desperate to return to her Better Place. _"This won't work if you don't relax,"_ she chastised herself.

A familiar calm was beginning to return. Sensations and elations were bombarding her psyche. The journey had begun. The arrival was imminent. The peace would be welcomed.

However, Sara Sidle was unaware that at this moment, she had taken a step forward on a journey that would eventually make her world better than she ever imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

It felt like home.

Gil Grissom had reached his Better Place. Unlike a run-of-the-mill daydream, this meditative state effected a physical and emotional response. It was as if his soul became blanketed in a cocoon of endorphins. The tangible surroundings of his workplace morphed into a haze of oblivion.

Gil found himself seated on a small boulder, perched over a low-lying cliff which jutted out over the softly crashing waves of a crystal blue sea. The edges of this scene were muted, softly disappearing into the cool darkness of infinity. He was at peace.

Imagine looking through a photographer's telefoto lens. The images before him were up-close and magnified. Nothing else existed beyond the crashing waves below his bare feet, the quiet calm of the seaside escape bringing a smile to his weary features.

He supposed his Better Place morphed him along this shoreline because his only true, happy memory of his father occurred in this scenario. It had been the sweltering August day his family ventured from the stuffy confines of their three bedroom ranch and packed up the car in search of relief from a persistent heat wave.

His parents had actually conversed that day, albeit awkwardly as his mother's hearing was rapidly failing. But for young Gil Grissom, that day was a time for doing what every other family in America was doing. Spending time together, with the radio blaring the Hit Parade, while the open car windows created a breeze that messed their hair and provided cooling caresses to their overheated bodies as they traveled closer to the shore.

His father had sat with him on the shoreline as he allowed his box kite to soar into the cloudless sky. At one point, his young shoulders were harnessed in his father's embrace in an attempt to keep the kite under control. Gil could still feel the warmth generated from that token action radiating throughout his body, being absorbed into his very core much like a sponge soaks up the rain. Never overly demonstrative, his father's gesture became the cornerstone of a memory that would keep alive the young child's hope for reunion – despite his rational side's disagreement – for many years that were to come.

Currently, however, Gil was just basking in the peace of the scene. He was alone, but not lonely. Contentment filled his being, and he felt…free. Free to breathe deeply, free to relax fully, and free to dream of …possibilities. Nothing was here to create parameters of thought or of action. No rules. It made him smile again. He happily continued to sit and just _be_. He had missed this place.

Yet, something had changed.

…..

His attention became riveted on one solitary notion.

…..

He was not alone.

The transcendental reality of this place went beyond physical sensory awareness. It wasn't that he could see or hear someone, exactly. It was more like an "extra-sensory" awareness. It would have been hard to place into words, but he was definitely aware of another presence.

He wouldn't call it ominous…exactly. But it was…unsettling.

…

As he sat and tried to examine exactly what he _was_ experiencing, he was suddenly overcome by the sense of _tragedy_…of _despair_…of…_death._

This last impression had Gil Grissom on his feet. Was this … his time to die? Was it Death itself coming to claim him? After all the time he spent being surrounded by, and immersed in, the business of death…could it be that Death had come stalking him _here_?

The scientist in him swiftly began to take control of his blatantly emotional response.

…

"_Such tricks hath strong imagination,  
That if it would but apprehend some joy,  
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;  
Or in the night, imagining some fear,  
How easy is a bush supposed a bear! – Shakespeare"_

The investigator in him came to the surface. His initial flight response squelched, Gil chose to leave his perch and explore a bit, albeit hesitantly. As his gaze left the rising tide, his focus turned toward the thicket set back away from the shoreline. Like a divining rod, he moved his body closer. His movements were hushed, anticipation dancing on his brow, contact was …

GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR

It felt like home.

Sara Sidle had reached her Better Place. Unlike a run-of-the-mill daydream, this contemplative state effected a physical and emotional response. It was as if her soul became blanketed in a cocoon of endorphins. The tangible surroundings of the LVPD breakroom morphed into a haze of oblivion.

Sara found herself on a dock by a bay. She lowered herself to the weathered surface and sat with her bare feet curled up under her. Her running shoes and favorite sweater abandoned on the soft sands of the shore, Sara took a deep breath. It seemed so wonderful, she realized that for a long time she hadn't really been breathing at all. She had been holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall, for the next wave of loneliness to engulf her – she had been suffocating.

Here in her Better Place, the cool mist felt wonderful on her face. She felt alive. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was glad to _be_ alive. She had forgotten how she had needed this place, how much she loved this place.

She recalled that in her early years her family situation had frequently kept her housebound, hidden from the splendors of living close to the waterfront. As a foster child, she had lost all interest in pursuing her passion for the seaside. Mrs. Brill had opened a new door for her, and subsequently Sara spent many happy times in this Better Place. They _had_ been happy times. _Happy_ times. She had almost forgotten what that felt like.

She was getting so tired of the death and despair they dealt with in their work. Her need for connection had forced her hand in accepting Nick, Warrick, Greg, Catherine – and even Gil – as her pseudo-family. Yet even those relations were tenuous. Somehow, Nick's promotion, Catherine's coolness, Greg's immaturity, Warrick's aloofness, and Gil's…rejection…had brought back those feelings of abandonment.

Sara was hurting.

…

With the fresh air, the sea breeze, and the cool mist surrounding her, Sara thought about what had transpired so far tonight.

Her head hung lower as she sighed. In this beautiful place, with these idyllic sights and sounds, the thought of death – her death – still molded itself around her like a shroud.

Sara lifted her eyes to the heavens. In this, her Better Place, she shrugged off the fear and in a loud voice sent a plaintive cry into the cosmos: _"Someone…please help me…don't let me die!"_ With that she ran from the dock, scrambling recklessly from the water's edge toward the dense tropical vegetation that lined the shore.

She tumbled to the sandy surface, curled herself tightly into the fetal position, and dreamed of being wrapped in a loving embrace. Sara lay there for what seemed like an eternity when she first became aware of a singular truth.

She was not alone.

…

She reasoned the metaphysical reality of this place went beyond physical sensory awareness. It wasn't that she could see or hear someone, exactly. It was more like an "extra-sensory" awareness. It would have been hard to place into words, but she was definitely aware of another presence.

She wouldn't call it ominous…exactly. But it was…unsettling.

As she sat breathing a bit heavier and tried to examine exactly what she _was_ experiencing, she was overcome by the sense of _comfort_…of _longing_…of…_home._

The investigator in her came to the surface. Her initial flight response squelched, Sara chose to leave her sandy spot and explore a bit, albeit hesitantly. As her gaze left the rising tide around the dock, her focus turned toward the thicket set back away from the shoreline. Like a divining rod, she moved her body closer. Her movements were hushed, anticipation dancing on her brow, contact was …

GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR

Gil was shaken back from his alternate reality by the cacophony from his desktop telephone. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he answered harshly, _"GRISSOM!"_

As the hesitant rookie policeman on the other end informed him of the pertinent details of the events of Sara's traffic stop, Gil sat straighter in his chair. Already twisting in his seat to find his keys, he was removing his glasses to swipe his free hand swiftly over his face. While anxiously anticipating the end of this call so he could spring into action, he needed to ask but almost didn't want to know – _"Is she alright?"_ His shoulders sagged in relief at the response. _"I'll be right there."_

GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR GSR

Sara was shaken back from her alternate reality by the intrusion of a hesitant rookie policeman into the LVPD breakroom. As he had informed her at the traffic stop, she would not be charged with DUI as she had only been observed pulling up to a red light, drinking from an open container, and beginning to pull away from that light. However, professional courtesy guidelines extended only as far as the paperwork. The officer was mandated to inform her immediate supervisor. Sara's insides groaned as the officer informed her that Dr. Grissom had been notified – and was on his way to escort her home.

Left alone in the breakroom for the second time this evening, she sat straighter on the leather loveseat. Already twisting in her seat, contemplating a break for the door, she ran a hand swiftly over her face. Stomach already knotted, and anxiously anticipating his arrival, Sara needed to know but was almost to afraid to ask herself – _"Will I be alright when he gets here?"_


	5. Chapter 5

Her body suddenly was on high alert.

Internally, she felt the drawbridges being raised…the wooden planks securing the doors…the parapets being armed…her defenses, albeit weakened by the events of the evening, becoming secured around her aching heart.

Grissom entered the room silently and seated himself centimeters from her stiffening form. She refused to make eye contact with him, although her sharp intake of breath (as well as her refusal to release it) had given him notice of her awareness of his presence.

He sat for a moment contemplating his next move. During his haste to reach her and assure himself that she was alright, he had not formulated his next step. Since his encounter with Doctor Lurie, his subsequent private encounters with her had been planned and reviewed _ad nauseam_, so desperate was he to keep his burgeoning feelings for her to himself so as to spare her additional pain. It occurred to him as he sat there, that perhaps this approach had backfired, reaping the opposite effect.

Sara, meanwhile, found it difficult to focus on her emotional retreat.

She wanted desperately to envelope herself in his comfort.

She wanted desperately for him to _want_ her.

She wanted desperately to not have these desires any longer.

She wanted desperately to escape.

Her current place held immeasurable pain and hurt.

Her Better Place was out of reach.

Once again, she felt that death would be welcomed.

Her fingertips began to tingle as she felt more than saw the black dots dancing before her eyes. Without realizing it, she had not released a breath since he had invaded her personal space.

Absorbed as he was with wanting to comfort her, he had not realized it either. That is why her reaction stunned him as he threaded his fingers through hers and said, "_Let's go home_." She released a sharp breath. Unable to speak, she looked at him as if she were about to faint. Her weakened condition alarmed him and his gaze caught hers.

In that moment, he connected with her despair, her longing, her resignation of defeat.

He continued to stare into her eyes, unwilling to break the contact. He began to feel as if he were her lifeline. To break contact at this moment would be to watch as…would allow her to…would cause him to _lose _her. He grasped both her hands and moved his face closer to hers. "_Sara_," he gasped, "_Sara,_ _please_…"

The urgency in his voice caused her to blink rapidly. She had been willing to just let go. But from that tiny island of preservation that had all but been engulfed by the tidal wave of despair, some small part of her that had been buried long ago was being rescued. She had buried it deeply, for protection from her abusive childhood. Mired in the death and destruction of her work – and her personal life - Sara had disregarded it. Her secret store of …hope.

Overcome by the intensity of the moment, she turned her head away from this penetrating gaze. In that second, the connection was gone. But not forgotten. By either heart.

They rose slowly, his hand still clasping hers tightly despite her initial struggle. They left the breakroom communicating without words, the onslaught of their silence assaulting their thoughts, assailing both hearts to submit to their feelings.

In the harsh backdrop of the Las Vegas nightscape, Reality reared its ugly head.

Neither heart would surrender.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS

By the time they arrived back at her apartment, the evening's events had taken their toll on Sara.

She barely made it up the staircase and would have fallen had it not been for his strong arm supporting her. Grissom took the key from her slack grip and unlocked the door, and had not fully switched on the interior lights before she fell face down onto the velour covering of her overstuffed living room couch. Her body instantly molded itself into the familiar comfort. She was asleep instantly…

On some level, Sara Sidle seemed to be totally aware that her dormant body was immobile. She, however, found herself far away from that figure, walking along a shoreline still intently gazing on the thicket in the distance.

It took her some time to realize she had arrived at her Better Place through the backdoor of her dreams. She had always suffered with nightmares surrounding her abandonment and abuse issues. This time, however, she wondered if her clever psyche was finally allowing her a chance to have some healing rest without the fear. As if there were a Protector standing guard to fight her demons for her.

Twirling in place and laughing as the ocean spray once again rained happily upon her features, she once again fell in love with her Better Place.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGRS

Gil stood next to the closed door and took in the scene before him. She had continued to walk to the couch until she walked onto it and fell forward into an immediate slumber. His smile at her position quickly fell. She _was_ asleep…wasn't she? He raced to her side, his heart calming as he grabbed her hand and felt a strong pulse. He frowned while observing her face buried in the soft cushions below her, as he realized she could suffocate in that position. He eased himself onto the coffee table directly in front of her. He caressed the sides of her face with the gentlest of touches and shifted her head for unobstructed breathing. He smiled as he was rewarded with the sound of soft snoring. He removed some strands of hair that were casually intruding on her thick, brown eyelashes.

_And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams  
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,  
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,  
And into glory peep. Henry Vaughan_

He removed her shoes and covered her sleeping form with a well-worn quilt from the back of the couch. Sighing as his hands moved over her shoulders, he chastely continued to tuck in the ends of the coverlet securely down the length of her body.

Satisfied that she was cocooned in warmth, he stood one minute more to contemplate what _was_ it about her that recently caused him to frequently mourn the loss of their connection? What _was _it about this woman that excited him to his very core? What _was_ he going to be able do about it?

Unable to deal with this familiar debate, he lowered himself onto a well-placed throw pillow and seated himself on the floor in front of his sleeping love. Intending to briefly allow himself time to make a memory of this brief "close encounter" before leaving her to much needed rest, he paused. He leaned his head back on the comfort of the cushion and turned his head to face her. He was close to enough to kiss her forehead, but his sense of chivalry reined in his desire. Instead, he marveled at the heightened sensory awareness their closeness created in him. This thought distracted him. Everything was _better_ when he was with her. It was always _better_. _Better_. He closed his eyes and smiled as he wondered if his Better Place would be _even better_ if he could share that with her. He sighed as he thought about them sharing his secret getaway. He would never want to leave. He would never want. He would…

Gil Grissom was asleep.

His adventure was just beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

He found himself at the shoreline, his feet sinking into the soft sand as the rising tide washed over his bare feet before retreating back to the watery depths. His gaze was fixed on the thicket in the distance.

Momentarily puzzled by his sudden reappearance in his Better Place, his body became overwhelmed by the calm that centered him as he breathed in the salt sea air. He wasn't sure how he had returned, but he didn't really care. He laughed aloud as he surveyed the landscape before him. It filled him with contentment, with peace, with joy... which led his thoughts to Sara. _My Sara._

And his soul became filled with longing.

Oh, this _was_ such a Better Place. Better than the crime-laden streets of Vegas. Better than the never-ending tensions of the politics required on the job. Better than the solitude of the "life" he had been living…and his thoughts again became fixed on Sara.

And his eyes searched for a refuge from the despair which was beginning to encroach on his sanctuary.

His gaze again fixed on the thicket in the distance. In this idyllic place, Gil's imagination had free rein.

Versed in the classics, Gil Grissom viewed the scene before him and envisioned Medieval France. A time of mythical dragons, fierce and violent predators that threatened a person's well-being. A time of knights in shining armor, champions of damsels in distress. Although not fully aware, the sand was becoming softer underfoot as he retreated from the moister shoreline, finding himself drawn to the thicket.

He smiled as he reconciled all in his purview to the scenes in his one of his favorite literary works, Chrétien de Troyes' _The Knight of the Cart_. As a teen, Gil Grissom had been an introvert. With few peer contacts outside of school, he allowed himself the joy of befriending the characters in the classics. Many pleasurable hours had been spent perched on the oversized window sill of his bedroom, back supported by the lacquered pine boards, legs dangling out into the summer breeze, and his features shaded from the afternoon sun by the top boughs of the fragrant cherry tree protruding against the upper panes.

He sighed as his secret desire once again surfaced. While he understood he was renowned as an entomologist, had won numerous awards and had been given accolades and kudos throughout his career, his true passion had never fully been realized. If truth be told, he had always held a secret wish: to be a knight in King Arthur's court.

He recalled vividly his visceral reaction to his first encounter with the Knights of the Round Table. He remembered rising to his feet, totally engrossed in the battles between the knights and the dragons, his body reenacting the moves, the dodges, the victories over those threatening forces. He summoned the memories of Black Knights who encroached on other's property and claimed maidens against their will. He had cheered his medieval heroes as they vanquished the violent perpetrators and returned the conquering heroes.

Gil Grissom smiled at his memories of working double shifts to uncover enough evidence to arrest a suspect who thought they had committed the "perfect crime". In the downtime after those marathon work sessions, he had sauntered through the hallways, inwardly feeling a bit like those noble heroes.

His personal hero had always been Sir Lancelot. Oh, to possess his virile strength, his vigor, his presence. His armor. It was his defense against harm, a shield against pain, a protection from that which would kill.

Gil Grissom knew all about armor. He donned his own shield daily. As a student, he presented a mask to teachers, schoolmates, even his own mother. Gil Grissom had needed his armor to shield his gentle heart from being shattered by his loneliness. He understood the paradox: his loneliness was caused by his failure to make a connection with others, yet it was his fear of being rejected in his attempts to forge a personal connection that caused him to retreat deeper into his loneliness. This knowledge, however, did not outweigh his instinct for self-preservation.

As a child, he coveted Lancelot's armor. As an adult, he modeled it.

Still, Lancelot had found love. DeTroyes' described her as "_the lady who surpasses all women who are alive_". Again, he smiled as he thought of Sara. Here, in his Better Place, he wished to dream of himself as _her_ Knight – fighting her dragons, her demons from her wretched past; slaying her fears, allowing her to open herself up to the love of the family being forged around her; winning her heart, permitting himself to love her openly as he so deeply loved her in secret.

His musings had distracted him from his journey. He was a bit startled to find himself in front of the thicket. Ever the scientist, he surveyed the thick, smooth-surfaced, ebony vines that were entwined before him. The thicket ran left to right as far as the eye could see, and the height surpassed his solid frame by about three meters. There was considerable depth, he concluded, as no light penetrated through the brush. _The Black Forest_, he conjectured, recalling the site of several major medieval tales of bravery.

And then…he felt it again. That "extra sensory" awareness that he was not alone. This time, it wasn't _death_ he felt…but _loneliness…_and _fear_… and _love_…

Without realizing it, he began clawing at the thicket and bellowing the repeated refrain,_"Who's there? Are you alright?"_


	7. Chapter 7

Her curiosity was piqued.

Sara stood on the sandy terrain and pondered the thicket in the distance.

It loomed high and wide and beckoned her to investigate further. As she approached the area, the exhilaration of the salt spray on her body was replaced by the quivering of apprehension. There was a darkness embedded in this black forest that made Sara shiver. She stood in awe before the smooth ebony tendons that snaked together to form a seemingly impenetrable barrier to whatever lay on the other side. This site invoked a strong memory for Sara.

As a young girl, her reading skills and comprehension were far above others her age. The factors that led her to be shunned by her peers, also allowed her to use her alone time to some advantage. Her fortress of solitude became the public library. While her preference was scientific study, from time to time she did indulge her secret passion: medieval literature.

Sometimes at night, when her living situation overwhelmed her, Sara would retreat from her despair – armed with a flashlight that had seen better times and her prized possession: a thumb-worn novel entitled _Camelot _that she had retrieved from a discarded book bin at her school library.

Most of the foster homes in which she resided had neglected attic rooms. There, by the cobweb-laden windows, this young emerging romantic would escape from her living nightmare. Under cover of moonlight, she would sneak into the top-story garret. Her flashlight perched on the rough-hewn sill, Sara would become absorbed in the tales of damsels in distress, and knights in shining armor coming to their rescue. These stories of courageous heroes risking life and limb for their true love provided a respite from the stark reality of her abandonment.

In recent days, she had uncovered a novel while browsing a local bookstore: Rosalind Miles'_ Guenevere: Queen of the Summer Country_. Armed with her purchase, she had spent her entire day off curled on a rug underneath her apartment's bay window, reliving the drama in her mind's eye. As with those favorite novels of her youth, this book had presented Princess Guenevere as having a contented life--until the sudden, violent death of her mother. Perhaps it was this focus that led Sara to bond with this character, for her young world also had been turned upside-down at the violent death of her father at the hands of her mother.

But Princess Guenevere had found a patriarchal love with King Arthur, whose feelings for his bride ran much deeper. Later, she became entangled in a passion-filled relationship with Sir Lancelot. Sara reflected that Guenevere had two men willing to risk everything to have her.

Yet, Sara Sidle was quite alone.

Perhaps it was recalling this romantic focus that fed Sara's loneliness, fearing she would always be alone, despairing that - even here in her Better Place - she felt unworthy of being loved.

She couldn't be sure how much time had passed while she pondered these things in her heart. A slight sea breeze nudged a curl from its nested place behind her ear, bringing Sara from her reverie.

Still, her heart was aching. In her anguish, she collapsed to her knees before the dense growth of bushes and tree limbs. She raised her voice to the heavens:

Where, oh where, was _her_ knight in shining armor?

Where was the person who would fight _her_ dragons?

Help allay _her_ constant fears?

Win _her_ heart?

And then…she felt it again. That "extra sensory" awareness that she was not alone. This time, it wasn't _longing _she felt projected from the thicket…but _courage…_and _determination_…and _**love**_…

From somewhere inside the forest she heard a sound of an urgent call. Initially, anxiety gripped her heart as she felt alone and vulnerable in what was supposed to be her sanctuary. Sara quoted Shelley in an attempt to focus her thoughts: "_The awful shadow of some unseen Power  
Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us._"

Armed with her hope that the bellowing was originating from a friendly Power, she listened closely. In this, her refuge, she reminded herself there were no rules, only _possibilities_.

She became firm in her resolve that she _could_ control the outcome of these events.

That she _might _be rescued from her distress by her knight in shining armor, who would hold her so close she could feel their hearts entwine as they rode into the sunset.

That she _wished_ to be rescued by her knight, who would love and protect her forever.

That as she _dreamed_, the face of her knight would belong to…Gil Grissom.

This focus of her thoughts was so strong that she found herself believing the loud, deep voice she was hearing actually _belonged _to Grissom. It was such a comforting thought that she immediately felt enveloped in his warmth. A smile pervaded her once-worried countenance. She giggled as she imagined him – decked out in knightly splendor, waving his spear to defeat her dragons.

As pleasant a reverie as it was, Sara was jolted back to the situation at hand when another louder bellow resonated through the stillness,_"Who's there? Are you alright?"_

A calm certitude took over her being. She stood directly in front of the thicket, hands perched softly on a dark, fingerlike branch. _"I'm fine,"_ she shot back into the midday air.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

Gil Grissom froze on the spot.

Had he indeed just received a reply from beyond the thicket?

And had the responder said they were _fine_?

His thoughts immediately returned to Sara.

How many times he had heard that comment roll off her lips.

How many times he had allowed it to go unchallenged, even when she was obviously _not_ fine.

How many times he had wanted to reach out to her.

How many times he had failed to be there for her.

Here in this place, however, there were no rules, only _possibilities_.

This focus of his thoughts was so strong that he found himself believing the soft, mellow voice he was hearing actually _belonged _to Sara. It was such a comforting thought that he immediately felt enveloped in her warmth. A smile pervaded his once-worried countenance. He chuckled aloud as he imagined her – decked out in courtly splendor, waving a spear to defeat her dragons on her own.

His smile fell. He felt a sadness overtake him as he realized that she had _always_ had to defeat her demons on her own. For as long as he had known her, she had always _been_ alone.

While he was not privy to all the details of her past, as an investigator he could make some basic assumptions.

He could surmise that she had been neglected, as she was always capable of drawing from some inner reservoir of strength to cope with a difficult case, not relying on support from others to get through it.

He could infer that she had experienced some domestic violence, as she always reacted strongly to the victims of those cases.

However, without sufficiently conclusive evidence, he refused to entertain the possibility that she had been sexually assaulted – despite her vehement reaction to the suspects in these cases. Not _his_ Sara. No.

He couldn't bear the fact that the evidence suggested no one had ever _been there_ for her.

Now, he was in his Better Place, where it could be perfect for him because he could _make _it perfect for him. He found himself wishing Sara was with him, so he could make it perfect for _her_, too.

He suddenly needed more contact with this _other person_. He called out again, asking if they were alone.

His concern rose as there was a long interlude before the voice shakily replied that indeed, they were alone _as usual_. With the sound of Sara's voice projected, as he felt, from his imagination, he was dismayed to think of her standing all alone in front of this staunch, natural barrier. He was beginning to panic at the idea of Sara isolated and possibly at risk. _Keep talking while you figure out what to do next_, he chided himself. He started to frantically pull at the front loop of the entwined branches, but they remained unyielding.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

On the opposite side of the thicket, Sara was imagining a romantic's scenario. There on the other side of the barrier, Sir Gil was frantically trying to reach her. Scouring the landscape, he would devise a way to clear the interlocking branches and make his way to her. She twirled as if dressed as a courtier, bowing low in mock acknowledgement of another's arrival. She laughed as she continued to spin and bow, and then stopped in her tracks.

She started calling out, each shout progressively louder.

She felt alone.

She collapsed to the sandy earth, and wept bitterly.

Her knight had abandoned her.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

The vibration of his cell phone jarred Grissom out of his deep sleep. Dismissing his message, he moaned quietly as stood from his spot in front of Sara's couch. Looking down at his watch, he realized he had spent much more time than he had planned.

As he tried to clear the cobwebs from his slumber, he stopped and focused on the memory of Sara's voice from beyond the barrier. For a moment, his protective feelings towards her resurfaced. Gil leaned over her sleeping form to assure himself she was alright. He studied her carefully for a moment, gently removing a stray hair that had meandered across her forehead. Reining in all his desire to scoop her into a loving embrace, he quietly headed for the door and let himself out into the cool Las Vegas night.

Instantly, he was struck by the sounds of the bustling nightlife in the distance.

Immediately, he missed his Better Place.

He worried about the person on the other side of the thicket.

He missed being with Sara.

Gil Grissom sighed, and drove home under the awakening morning sky.

Had he stayed a few moments longer, he would have seen the torrents of lonely tears escaping from under Sara's sleeping eyelids.


	8. Chapter 8

Sara had taken a week's vacation after the DUI incident. To stop the charges from becoming part of her permanent record, it had been agreed that if she talked with the department counselor, no disciplinary action would be taken.

The counselor was specifically trained to handle issues of work-related stress, post-traumatic stress, and cases of physical violence that lead to neurosis. The counselor was NOT specifically trained to deal with a patient who had spent almost her entire life encapsulating her personal hell to shield her conscious mind from the effects of its intensity. Sara felt well prepared for this dance, as she had perfected it through numerous dress rehearsals while in the foster care system.

Sara ran through the routine as if she were some macabre choreographer:

1. Begin by refusing to look straight into their eyes.

_This will show them you need them._

2. Allow them to coax you into maintaining eye contact.

_They will feel they are making headway._

3. Listen to their ramblings until you find a catchphrase to latch onto.

_"Tell me about your last case…your workload…problems in your personal life."_

_Last case…always good for some great descriptives... Civies think they can _

_handle the details, but are quick to rush to empathy after the first round of _

_describing blood evidence or decomp…_

4. Cue the watery eyes.

_Not too soon, not too much. Single tear drop down the cheek usually makes them _

_feel that they have reached you…_

5. By the end of the hour, lose the tears and take a slow, deep breath.

_Body language theorists state that, "Slow, deep breathing, sometimes with _

_slightly parted lips, may indicate someone who is relaxing or meditating._

6. Always close with a full smile, looking straight into their eyes.

_"A genuine smile is often asymmetric and usually larger on the right side of the _

_face. Smiling is also a sign of submission as the person effectively says 'I am nice and not a threat'." They think they are a genius and you are CURED!!!_

7. Gratefully accept any literature that pertains to the topics you have discussed in session.

_…and toss in the nearest trash receptacle a minimum of two blocks away from _

_their office._

8. Repeat steps 3 – 7 during any mandatory follow-up sessions.

Having turned in another sterling performance, Sara had received the confirmation to return to work at the end of the week.

And so it was that Sara Sidle found herself alone in the locker room, four hours before the scheduled start of tonight's shift.

Lab personnel would notice she was outwardly excited about returning to work.

Inwardly, Sara was fighting off the mental and physical fatigue caused by the horrific return of her nightmares.

The day after Grissom rescued her from the precinct waiting room, Sara had fought off the nausea. She was unsure which of the previous night's escapades caused her physical ailment. Surely the excessive amounts of alcohol played a factor. But the abject feelings of abandonment that had overcome her, within that solitary sanctuary, had left her waking soaked in her own tears – and with a morbid fear of being alone.

So sleep had eluded her as Past encroached on Present.

Sounds of neighbors passing by evoked memories of drunken arrivals and heavy footsteps directed toward her bedroom door.

Fighting felines under the streetlamps summoned mental reenactments of the screams piercing the dead of night, as a knife was being thrust into human flesh.

Distant sirens of emergency vehicles aroused a need to cower in a darkened corner of her bedroom, her knees drawn up as she tried to make herself invisible to the specters that invaded her memories.

She had not left her apartment in seven days. Most days she forgot to eat, and even then the meager meals were barely touched. Sara chose loose-fitting garments and layered them perfectly to draw attention from her dwindling body mass.

Her lack of sleep had taken its toll. Dark circles and a pallid complexion greeted her as she sagged into the bathroom mirror. But Sara was a consummate makeup artist. Although she rarely wore more than needed to even out her skin tone, through her experiences she had become very adept at using the right products in the right way to present herself to the world as if things in her life WERE right.

She felt like she was running in a minefield.

She could not afford a misstep.

Grissom had been privy to the aftermath of her indiscretion.

Now, having seen her weakness, would she repulse him?

Would he now withdraw even further from interacting with her?

Had she pushed him away for good this time?

Yet…

He had held her hand.

He had taken her home.

Did he understand that she was barely hanging on?

Did he see just how much she needed him?

Still, when she had awakened, she was alone.

And in seven days, despite her desperation, she had been unable to return to her Better Place.

Work was all she had left, and she needed to make it through this shift.

That is why, as she slumped on the bench in the locker room, she wrung her hands and hoped for a miracle.

Sara eased herself onto her tired feet and headed towards the break room. Toying with the idea of some hot tea, she abandoned the task in favor of reclining on the chocolate-colored leather loveseat. Bracing her head on her wrist, she slumped into the arm of the couch, listening to the whirr of a faraway copier, the bustle of specimens being rushed through the lab, the hushed voices in discussion of evidence. The sounds were familiar and oddly comforting.

Sara quickly lapsed into a light sleep.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

Gil Grissom was a man on a mission.

As he left his trusty steed in the lab parking lot, he double-checked that the Denali was locked as he continued toward the main entrance.

It had been seven days since he had last seen Sara. He berated himself for not phoning or visiting her in that time. He had been so unsure as to how to proceed. Instead, he had secretly followed her progress through the interoffice memos that passed his desk: one from payroll, seeking a confirmation of her available vacation hours; one from counseling, confirming her fitness to return to work without stipulation; and one from Brass, outlining that her apartment lights were on, movement inside the apartment had been detected, and her car did not appear to have moved for several days.

He was exhausted.

He needed to see her.

He needed to assure himself that she was indeed ok.

He wanted to be with her.

Gil sighed as he slumped against the back of his padded office chair. He stretched to relieve the ache in his taut muscles.

He felt like he was running in a minefield.

He could not afford a misstep.

He had been privy to the aftermath of her indiscretion.

Now, having seen her weakness, would she forgive his mistakes and allow him to get closer to her?

Would she now withdraw even further from interacting with him?

Had his attempts to help her simply pushed her away for good this time?

Yet…

He had held her hand.

He had taken her home.

Did she understand that he could see she was barely hanging on?

Did she see just how much he needed to be with her?

Still, when he had awakened, he had left her alone.

Since then, he had not been sleeping well.

And in seven days, despite his desperation, he had been unable to return to his Better Place.

Although it was four hours before graveyard shift began, Gil was here trying to prepare for how it would be when he saw her again. He hoped he looked stronger than he felt. Seeking some caffeine to help him feel more alert, he set out for the break room.

The shades had been drawn against the glare of the harsh hallway fluorescent lights, and so he did not immediately see her asleep on the loveseat situated in the corner shadows.

Upon entering, however, he felt that presence.

There was a sweetness…a joy…a song that reverberated throughout his being.

She was here.

He whirled around until he spotted her. Instinctively, he moved towards her softly, craning his neck to ascertain if she was asleep. He smiled.

How he loved this woman.

He hoisted the padded high-back captain's chair from its spot at the head of the worktable to a position in front of her sleeping form. He intended only to sit unnoticed and observe her, checking for residual signs of distress from her recent ordeal.

Instead, he gazed upon her with the eyes of a man in love. He watched the soft rise and fall of her shoulders as she took shallow breaths. He observed that recalcitrant curl as it moved from its intended confines and danced lightly across her cheek. He noticed her shudder slightly. Thinking she was reacting to the chill of the central air conditioning, he reached over and covered her with the surplus emergency blanket, light but warming.

He remembered the last time he had seen her, so peacefully slumbering on her couch.

He recalled the events of that night - the last time he had been to his Better Place.

He missed being there, no rules – only possibilities.

He had missed being with Sara.

He wanted to be in that place, with _his_ Sara.

He wanted the possibility of being _here_ with his Sara.

He was so tired.

He thought how things needed to change – and soon.

He was aware that he was sitting silently, watching her sleep. He began listening to the whirr of a faraway copier, the bustle of specimens being rushed through the lab, the hushed voices in discussion of evidence. The sounds were familiar and oddly comforting.

Gil quickly lapsed into a light sleep.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

In what seemed like a blink of sleep weary eyelids, she found herself facing the foreboding darkness contained inside the labyrinth of smooth ebony branches.

She jumped back in surprise, quickly surveying the landscape for threats to her safety. After spending a week being terrified of being alone, the backdrop of the soothing seascape calmed her fears. For the first time in a week, she could take a deep breath.

A tear of joy escaped down her cheek.

She was really here in her Better Place!

She thought she would never see it again.

Bedecked with a gap-toothed smile, she stretched out upon the sandy terrain, making sand angels and giggling happily.

She never wanted to leave here again.

Even if it meant she would sentence herself to being here alone.

Her past could not torment her here.

This place could be perfect for her because she could _make _it perfect for her.

Sara found herself wishing Gil was with her, so she could make it perfect for _them_ and they could be together forever.

She sighed as she again resigned herself to the fact that some things just would never be.

As she sat quietly, her innermost senses screamed for her attention.

The mysterious stranger had returned.

GSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSRGSR

In a blink of tired eyes, he found himself facing the black forest, oblivious to the cascading waves crashing onto the shoreline behind him.

H-How had he gotten here?

His best efforts over the last week had failed.

Deliberate, conscious efforts to achieve this state were no longer effective.

As he realized that he had entered again through the backdoor of his dreams, he paused.

How had he been allowed passage through that portal this time?

Truly, he _had_ slept some over the last seven days.

Most nights were fitful, tossing and turning keeping true rest from fully refreshing him.

Still, he _had_ dreamed – but not entered his Better Place.

The investigator in him ruminated over the facts.

The evidence suggested only one conclusion:

He could no longer enter this place _unless he was with Sara_.


	9. Chapter 9

Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

She was alone, yet she was aware of this strange connection to the person on the other side of the thicket. She did not know how far away the mysterious stranger stood.

Comforted that the darkness was sufficient to indicate a measure of safety, Sara could not deny an innate desire for connection. Her instincts told her it was a friendly presence.

She couldn't explain it, but suddenly she possessed a ravenous appetite for companionship.

This realization unnerved her somewhat. Her past had forced her to become self-reliant. Relying upon others only caused disappointment and pain. She had never really found acceptance for who she really was. However, she had never shown anyone that side of her, either.

Foster care had made her suspicious. Still, there was something different about this special group of co-workers on the graveyard shift. Perhaps she _had_ closed herself off to the overtures of the other CSIs who were attempting to include her in their circle of friendship. Sara had groomed herself into believing she could rely totally on herself, not _needing_ anyone.

Well, until she met Grissom.

And look where _that_ had gotten her.

Still, her desire for a relationship with Grissom was not spawned by some adolescent dream of a happily ever after.

Was it?

Confusion clouded her thoughts and without fully realizing it, she had again placed her hands on a strong ebony bough and was projecting loudly, "Sir! Sir! Are you there?"

------------------

Having been pleasantly absorbed in the plight of a crane wading in the shallow depths in search of a meal, he was startled by the sound. Gil whirled around in the direction of the thicket, alarmed by the urgency of the voice. Almost jogging, he was breathless as he reached out to place his hand on a strong ebony bough.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

------------------

She smiled. In her whole adult life, no one had called her 'Ma'am' – and lived to tell about it.

Somehow, she thought she could forgive his outburst – this one time. After all, it isn't as if he could see her.

She imagined what he looked like. He had a kind voice. It made her feel…safe. And the apparent desperation in his voice as he tried to ascertain her safety was…charming. Her mind's eye envisioned a strapping figure, ruggedly handsome features, perhaps a bit timeworn from his many escapades of dueling with demons. She sighed. A sad smile crossed her face as she choked back the lump that had formed in her throat. Her mind's eye envisioned…Grissom.

As she pondered what could never be, a sadness washed over her. Before it could consume her completely, she heard another increasingly emotional cry, "Ma'am? Please answer me!"

---------------------

Gil was becoming desperate. He knew there was someone on the other side. He also knew from their last brief encounter that it was a female voice - and she was alone. Although this was _his _chosen sanctuary, was she here by _her_ own volition? Had she been abandoned? Was she in danger?

His years as a criminalist had shown him the type of hell people could inflict on others. Here, in his Better Place, he wanted to believe that part of the real world could not invade these boundaries. Still, he wondered about her.

He envisioned a beautiful woman, not glamorous exactly, but beautiful – inside and out. Perhaps she sounded a bit weary, maybe tired of having to fight her own demons. He sighed. A sad smile crossed his face as he breathed in deeply to refocus. His mind's eye envisioned…Sara.

His need to be with her was consuming him completely. With some urgency, he imagined what he would say if it WAS Sara on the other side of the thicket. Here, in his Better Place, it was possible for him to overcome the shyness that caused him to stutter, caused him to retreat from saying what was really on his mind – and heart.

Gallantly, he breathed deeply and called again, "Ma'am, can you hear me?"

---------------------

For what seemed like a bit of heavenly eternity, they talked. Shielded by the black forest that loomed before them, sheltered by the comfort of their Better Place, and driven by the need for connection, Sara and Gil began to share in a way neither had done before.

"Ma'am?"

"Sir, don't call me that!"

"My apologies. I didn't mean to offend. It's just…well…I don't know your name. I was concerned about you. I did realize that I was speaking to a lady, and just assumed…"

"I understand. "

" Well, as you haven't divulged your name, I wonder…how may I address you?"

(after a moment's deliberation, Sara smiled as she decided to fulfill her fantasy)…"You may call me….Lady G."

Sara smiled. If this were to be her one shot at a fantasy, then she would become 'Lady Grissom'…she could finally belong to him, if only in a name…_A rose by any other name_…she could hear him say…and they would meet in this black forest and she could be swept off her feet by a gallant knight in shining armor…but what would he be called? Excited as her decision delighted her fancy, she sought to claim the last piece of the drama.

"And you sir? By what entitlement should I address you?"

He was a bit taken aback, and yet amused, by the medieval underpinnings of their initial encounter, Gil Grissom willingly joined in her whimsy.

"My Lady, you may call me…Sir G."

At this, she smiled her gap-toothed smile. 'Sir G.' … how perfect!

" Sir G., do these woods belong to you? Have you lived here long?"

Something about their initial contact put him at ease. For the first time, Gil answered honestly, from his heart, before he screened his words through the protective armor he had donned throughout his lifetime.

"I visit as frequently as I can. I love it here. Although it is far from my home, from where I live and work, I feel that I can be who I really am when I am here. It is perfect. I feel like I can really breathe…really feel…really…live."

His honest admission surprised him. But he was even more surprised when a chunk of the ebony limb that he had been gripping while he spoke suddenly broke off in his hands, revealing a minor chink in the entwining fortress before him.

As he was deliberating what had just happened to him, he heard a reply from beyond the darkness.

" I am new here. I love it here, too. It is so opposite from my life in…from the life I am used to. This place makes me feel I can control my actions, control my anger, control my destiny…"

"Your anger? What has happened to you that has made you angry? Really, I want to know why you are so angry…"

Gil was intrigued at what could have happened to make such an obviously young person so angry that they felt the need to retreat to a sanctuary such as this.

Something about their initial contact put her at ease. For the first time, Sara answered honestly, from her heart, before she began her macabre choreography.

"My past has been hurtful and left me with little in the way of good memories. Sometimes, I get so angry because I just want to be like everyone else, you know? Just a normal person, with normal dreams, normal…relationships."

At that, she stopped to compose herself. Without realizing it, she had increased the strength of her grip on the section of ebony vine she was holding…and it came cracking off into her hands.

While she was trying to reconcile what had just happened to the current reality of her situation, from beyond the thicket, she heard:

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sara froze. THOSE words she had heard before. Her instinctive reaction was to run away, but before she could turn she heard:

"Lady G., really, I want to know why you are so angry…"

And then, there was silence.

"Sir G.! … Sir G.!"

But he was gone.

She wanted him to stay.

She wanted to tell him her story.

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

She sat with the branch perched on her lap and wept softly.

Suddenly, she was aware of movement, shaking, someone shaking…her.

----------------------

"Sara! Honey, please wake up!"

She opened her eyes to find Nick standing over her. Sara took in her surroundings. For a moment, she did not recognize the break room in the filtered light from the hallway. She felt Nick swiping at her tear-stained cheeks. She saw the concern in his eyes as he tried to find an injury, a reason for the tears.

"Sorry, bad dream I guess."

"Want to talk about it?", she heard from the direction of the coffee pot. Grissom stood there, hair slightly mussed, with features looking as if he had just abruptly woken from a deep sleep.

"Aw…no…really, just a stupid dream," Sara quickly countered, smiling at Nick who was sitting across from her in a high backed captain's chair. Nick seemed reasonable assured she was ok, and began ribbing her about needing a 'vacation from her vacation'.

Grissom exited the room towards his office and closed the door behind him. He needed time to process the recent events. And what was with that bough breaking off in his hand?

Sara exited the room towards the locker room. She needed time to process what had just happened. And what was with that branch breaking off in her hand?

Simultaneously, they both agreed it was going to be a long shift.


	10. Chapter 10

How could he have known?

At the time, loaning Sara to Catherine's shift to investigate the set of tarred bodies abandoned in the desert had seemed like a good idea. Knowing her thorough nature and ability to uncover plausible connections where none seemed to exist, Grissom felt she was the perfect choice for this case.

He was now aware of just how mistaken he was.

This case had gotten under Sara's skin. By all accounts, she had become "obsessed" (Catherine's word) with her "unsubstantiated" declarations of their main suspect's spousal abuse, and implications of his past abuse leading to the death of their second victim.

Catherine was making these heated claims during her diatribe, as she circled Grissom's desk like a vulture. It was obvious to him she was out for blood. The redhead's nature gave no quarter. Catherine wanted the young CSI to pay for the in-your-face rant Sara had leveled at her.

He was unprepared, however, for her final statement concerning how Ecklie had "saved" her from total embarrassment in front of the whole lab. Grissom sucked in his breath as she smugly related the details of Ecklie's "intervention" and subsequent suspension of the CSI whom Catherine now described as "out of control".

She stood before him, a bit out of breath from her vehement speech. Catherine waited for a sympathetic response. They had been friends for a long time and had always had each other's back. She could always count on him.

He stood from his desk and came around to stand in front of her.

Gil looked Catherine squarely in the eyes. Without a word…he bolted for the door.

-------------------------------

Sara sat on the floor under the bay window in her darkened apartment. There was no friendly moon to shine upon her miserable state. She drew her knees up close and wept until there were no more tears.

She felt the memories entwining themselves over her. The feel of his hands, the stench of his liquored breath, the look in his eyes, the bitter taste of his advances…the sounds of his screams.

It finally had become too much.

Berating herself for her cowardice in not following through with her destructive decision on that fateful night, Sara was becoming unglued. She did not fear death. She feared living, living _this_ life.

Sara felt trapped.

With the reflexes of a caged animal, she ran around the apartment – turning on lights, loading her disc drive on the stereo, tossing her catalogs and even her answering machine in the trash, grabbing her timeworn quilt from the couch and wrapping it soundly around her…frantic to maintain control before she acted on her desperation.

She ran to the kitchen and popped open a beer. She guzzled it straight through before reaching for another. By this time, she had calmed herself somewhat. She stood for what seemed like forever in the midst of her living room, breathing in more slowly. Her heart rate was returning to a more normal rhythm. The alcohol was relaxing her initial hyperactivity.

Her panic attack was abating.

She dropped the quilt back on the couch. Still clutching the second beer, Sara sat down at her desk and stared at the blank pad in front of her. Lowering the volume on her stereo, she picked up the pen in front of her.

She had never felt more alone.

For the second time in as many weeks, her job performance had come under unfavorable scrutiny. She had lost out to Nick for the promotion, and now Ecklie would have her fired for insubordination. Work was all she had left.

And now even that had been taken away from her.

And with it, any hope of forging a relationship with people she could really care about.

She had no one.

Who would miss her?

Taking a swig of the ice-cold ale, Sara thought about what she would say in a farewell letter.

"I'm sorry." _But I wouldn't be! This hell would be over!_

"There was nothing you could have done." _But somebody could have loved me!_

"It is better this way." _But I don't want to die!_

She flung the pad and pen angrily across the room. Sara took another swig and propped the bottle onto her desktop. She fell forward onto her folded arms and took calming breaths.

She wanted to run away.

She wanted to be safe.

She needed to get back to her Better Place…before it was too late.

After a long while, realizing she was too upset to return there at this time, Sara rubbed her hands over her tired features. She took another swig of the room-temperature drink and stood shakily from her desk. Walking stiffly, she retrieved the pad and pen and returned to her spot next to her desktop stereo.

A small smile formed as she decided to write to the only person who seemed interested in the "real" Sara. Someone who made her feel safe, comforted. Someone she felt she could trust with her innermost secrets. Her pen scratched out the beginning of her correspondence:

"My dear Sir G. – "

She paused as she looked at his name. Instantly, she was flooded with memories of listening to his initial revelation about his life. She remembered wanting to reciprocate in kind, and how the branch had cracked off in her hand. It was as if her truthful sharing had caused her to remove a bit of the brambles that stood between them. If only it could really be that easy…

The knock on the door startled her, causing her to come out of her reverie.

She sat for a moment…wondering…could it be?

Had he read the beginning of her letter?

Had Sir G. become …real?

Had he come to take her away from all her pain?

Her muddled state caused her to grasp at this final straw. She reached for the handle just as the knocking resumed. Sara flung open the door…and came face to face with Gil Grissom.

-----------------------------------

They both knew why he was here. Their opening conversation did not exactly include "pleasantries", but her civility caused her to ask her "guest" if she could get him anything. As she spoke, she began to pace the room in an unconscious attempt to put distance between them.

Gil stood still near her breakfast counter, observing her movements. It appeared to him that she was placing physical barriers between them. His heart broke. By coming here, he had hoped to tear down some of the emotional barriers between them and learn what was really causing her uncharacteristic behavior.

Well, perhaps it was not uncharacteristic after all.

_This_ was what he needed to uncover.

So to answer her hospitable query, he said, "Sure. I'd like an explanation."

At this, Sara donned her well-worn dance shoes, smiled, and raised the curtain on the same song-and-dance routine that had worked well for her in the past.

Only, this time, her audience was not buying it.

He began making some vague movie reference as she folded herself onto her overstuffed living room chair, reflecting on what her next move would be.

That's when she heard it.

Her head jerked up, causing her to hear a snap in her cervical vertebrae.

Defensively, she was beginning to set her jaw and raise the drawbridges. Sara refused to look at him as she huffed, "Leave it alone."

Most people who had previous dealings with Sara Sidle knew that the jaw set plus the huffed statement equaled a call to run for the hills before she exploded.

This time, Gil Grissom was standing his ground.

Perhaps, that was one reason her senses went to overload when he repeated his statement:

"I want to know why you are so angry."

--------------------------------------------------

It is hard to tell exactly what happened after that.

It is best to assume that she curled her legs up close to her, for protection from her thoughts. Forgetting Gil stood within arm's length, Sara initially retreated to those final moments in her Better Place.

She had reached out to her mysterious companion.

She wanted him to stay.

She wanted to tell him her story.

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

Her small personal revelation that day had caused the thicket that divided them to a break apart in a small measure.

But this was not her Better Place.

She had no comfort here…no protection from discovery…no safety.

Though she had never seen him, she felt she could trust Sir G. with her innermost thoughts.

In her fantasies, she felt he would take on her demons to protect her.

But this was Gil Grissom.

He had hurt her before when he pushed her away.

The devastation of his leaving, after making him privy to even a bit of her past, would crush her.

As her internal debate raged, Gil became concerned at the length of her silence.

He seated himself across from her on the edge of the couch. He continued to scan her features, patiently waiting, hoping she was gathering her thoughts before speaking.

As she recalled her encounters at the thicket, with her fight-or-flight instinct engaged, her gaze fell on his worried countenance. Partially obscured by the top of her jean-covered knees, she shrank down a bit for protection. But those blue eyes held only heartfelt concern, perhaps even worry. She sat a bit taller, hugging her legs tighter for safety, and gazed into his eyes – attempting to read what was on his mind.

He felt exposed. He was sure she could see into his soul. Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to hold her, comfort her, welcome her fully into his lonely life. He thought back to his Better Place. He wished to grab Sara and return there. Build her a castle in the sand, romp on the beach…remove her from her pain…love her.

He smiled. It was as if he could see her building defenses to protect her inmost castle. He thought back to the thicket and recalled the freedom he had felt as he shared unguardedly with the mysterious Lady G. He suddenly wanted to know all about Sara's past. He wanted her to tell him about the demons that plagued her. He wanted to be her protector, her champion.

As she continued to gaze uncertainly at him, Gil finally spoke.

_Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,  
Rising and reaching upward to the skies;  
Listen to voices in the upper air,  
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries._ Longfellow

She blinked. Hard. Did he somehow _know_ about her Better Place? Or could it be that they shared this common need to escape from the pain of a lonely life? She thought about the lesson of the cracked branch. Could it really be that easy to tear down the walls between them?

She turned her head to avoid his gaze. Her eyes shot to the pad on her desk. The choice was clear: save her revelations for a dream world knight in shining armor _or_…

Sara returned her gaze to the now silent Grissom. She took a deep breath. She felt she had nothing else to lose.

"I want to tell you a little bit about my family…"

---------------------------------------

After a lengthy revelation that merely touched upon the details that had been reported in the local news and could be verified through any search of her hometown newspapers, Sara wept and hugged her legs to barricade herself against what she was now sure would be his impending departure.

Yet…he reached out and held her hand.

His heart broke for the deep-seated agony his love was now enduring.

He stood and placed his arms under her shaking knees and behind her back.

He carried her to the couch and held her on his lap.

She cried.

He comforted.

They fell asleep huddled together on the comfort of the overstuffed cushions.

------------------------------------

She was not sure why her beachside retreat left her feeling…lost.

Glancing uphill, she scrambled to her feet, kicking up a sandstorm in her wake.

She clawed at the thicket, but the branches were unmoving.

Wide-eyed, she slumped with her back to the black forest. She tried to remember the events of the evening, but something was blocking her memory. Sara was only aware of one thing:

She wanted to be with Grissom.

She stood again as she heard her stranger entreating her to answer him.

------------------------------------

He was aware of sitting near the edge of the rising tide. His usually happy spot now left him feeling…lost.

Glancing uphill, he scrambled to his feet and walked resolutely towards the thicket.

He pulled on the boughs, but they were unyielding.

The previous events of the evening seemed lost to him. Gil Grissom was only aware of one thing:

He needed to be with Sara.

So he stood there calling out to his partner on the other side of the thicket, hoping she would help him find his way back to the woman he now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, was his true love.


	11. Chapter 11

She felt betrayed.

No, she had no one to blame but herself. She had let herself out on that limb, and he had snapped it out from under her.

Sara felt her entire being reeling from shock, anger…hurt.

She had bared her pain to him. She had accepted his comfort. She had done what she promised herself time and again she would NEVER do.

She trusted him.

And now she stood under her shower, the strength of her tears flowing down her troubled face matching the power of the stinging spray cascading over her trembling form.

In her grief, she sobbed for all the things that had captivated him, all the things she would never be.

Admired.

Attractive.

The "uber professional".

Cultured.

Boarding schooled.

Desirable.

Self-assured.

Mysterious.

Without "baggage" from the past.

Irresistible.

_Blonde._

Initially when she had seen them, she shrugged off the warning bells. It was just a professional conversation. Just like the ones he had with Catherine a million times.

Perhaps it wasn't so much _his_ demeanor that had actually caused all the hairs on the back of her neck to stand at attention. It was _her_ body language. And all that blonde hair...

----------

In college, Sara would never admit that she had worshipped her lab partner from afar. Being an early admittance student, she was a few years younger than most of her classmates, focused solely on keeping her scholarship. Yet the sight of his brawny presence made her weak at the knees.

She loved their double lab days, working in tandem to uncover a newer approach, and hitherto undiscovered result. They would high-five with each success. Then Sara would return to her empty dorm room and use that day's interaction to spark another fantasy.

And it went well for that semester. Until the holiday break was upon them.

That last night of finals, most students were partying before setting off for a Norman Rockwell family Christmas – with the exception of the international students…and Sara. She remembered pulling out all the stops. She bought a killer new outfit, did the makeup, the hair. She looked…nice.

Excited, she almost ran to the student center. She could hear the live band reverberating through the still of the frosty night. He was there. She could feel him.

The doors closed behind her as she entered the commons. She had pasted on a casual smile, all the while her heart was pounding. Casting a nonchalant glance to survey the room, her eyes locked on his rugged form. He was grasping his mug as he leaned against the bar, astutely intent on hearing the end of a tale being related by someone in his usual entourage. As he broke into hysterical laughter, his head surfaced and…he had smiled at her.

She grimaced at the memory and began to sob as she once again relived the horror that followed.

He had excused himself from the group and was ACTUALLY COMING TOWARDS HER. Sara was sure her heart had stopped and he would find her dead before she hit the floor. COD would be…Surprise? Joy? Love?

Just as she thought that for once Life had cut her a break, he stopped dead in his tracks. She scoured his face and realized something had taken control of his body. Sara turned to follow his gaze…and her jaw dropped to the floor.

There in the open doorway, with the softly falling snow as a backdrop, stood a vision of loveliness. This was the face to which every woman begrudgingly conceded defeat. As the coed stood there silently commanding the attention of every male who had ever drawn a breath, she regally removed her wrap, batted the eyelashes that were long enough to ensnare a soul from 50 yards away, and then…raised her chin slightly as she shook free the waist length, blonde tresses that fell over her seductively arched shoulders.

And he was lost _in her_.

And Sara realized he was lost _to her_.

She doubted he even realized that she simply turned and left the building. Sara remembered the calm that overcame her as she hustled back to the empty dorm. Perhaps she was in shock. Still, she recalled disrobing and taking a pair of scissors to her new outfit. In doing so, she wished to erase the last vestige of this newest addition to her mental scrapbook of unbearable events. She remembered trudging to the showers with a heavy heart. She wanted to scrub away this newest hurt. She would be no more successful than she had been in the past.

----------

Then, as now, she had wept until she thought she might die of despair. Then, as now, she had stood under the comfortless waterfall until the pipes released only cooling sprays. Then, as now, she did not retreat from this safe haven, ignoring the protests of her shivering body. Then, as now, she would have welcomed death rather than to deal with the pain.

That thought brought her out of her abstracted state and caused her to quickly shut off the jets.

What was it that _he_ had said to her at the thicket?

---------------------------------------------

Gil Grissom stalked the lab hallways, hunting for a face amid the crowds. His prey was elusive.

He slowed his gait, concentrating on his breathing, attempting to restore some calm to his restless spirit.

He was going to kill Catherine.

What had _she_ been thinking? _Perhaps she had not been thinking at all! _

Didn't she know the type of damage an insensitive remark could inflict? Especially when she spoke about things _she had no right to_…

He paused and leaned against the break room door. He _had_ to get his emotions in check or he would do neither of them any good.

In all honesty, he couldn't blame this all on Catherine. She didn't understand the tenuous situation. _Still, she should have thought it through before she went and said…._

He stood crestfallen against the dim lights of the empty break room. He peered over to gaze into his reflection in the mirrored tiles of the kitchenette's backsplash. Moving dejectedly, he braced himself on the ledge and glared into the troubled blue eyes confronting him. _How could you have done such a thoughtless thing??? How will you ever manage a real relationship when all you remember to think about is what seems right for YOU???_

He sighed. How can I take away your pain, when I was the one who inadvertently caused it? Once again, I have hurt the one person I …love…more than life itself. _Grissom! YOU are an ASS!_

He stopped himself from rushing out to find her. He needed to calm down. He would need to be prepared to see her, to make her understand, to comfort her.

And he would need her forgiveness. If he were not too late.

What was it _she_ had said to him at the thicket?

-------------------------------------------------

Sofia Curtis was a force to be reckoned with. The newest addition to the CSI workforce came in pitiable fashion through a spiteful decree from Ecklie. Now, this commanding presence came with her own set of _caveats_.

She was trained in advanced weaponry.

And she was not afraid to use it.

She held impressive field command experience.

And she was not afraid to use it.

She had the power to eliminate distractions to focus on her goal.

And she was not afraid to use it.

She had a conscience that believed for a woman in a man's world, one must seize any and all opportunities for advancement.

And she was not afraid to use it.

She was blonde.

And she was not afraid to use it.

Sizing up the workforce competition, Sofia had smiled. Piece of cake.

Now, where would she find her latest challenge? Sofia had always been drawn to power. She needed someone who had the real control, someone who could help her advance – in experience, in skills development, in her next promotion. Ecklie was out. Sofia had sized him up during their initial encounter. No, he was a buffoon, a caricature.

That is why she feigned hurt at his reassignment of her to this current CSI team. He had played right into her hands. Gil Grissom. This was the seat of power at this CSI lab.

His connections, his ability, his loyalty, his stature – these things excited Sofia. She wanted to bask in them by association. And so she had set out to snare this seemingly befuddled, absentminded professor. She had been successful in college using this approach. She had every confidence that it would be to her advantage again in this workplace.

And so it was that she played her hand skillfully.

And so it was that Gil Grissom had asked her out to dinner.

While his intentions had been honorable, he had not thought things through. He had seen this as a dinner among colleagues to discuss Sofia's tentative work status, with an eye towards keeping a well-trained investigator as an asset for his overworked team.

However, Sofia had left no room for doubt where the office gossip mill was concerned. Her well-placed comments, stunning costume switch, and slight blush as they left the building caused intercom buttons to depress and fanciful conjecture to reach a frenzied crescendo.

And Catherine had bought into every word.

She could see right through Sofia's tactics. She was worried for Mr. Clueless in the clutches of the Black Widow. Irate, she was running off at the mouth as she encountered Sara in the Evidence Room, buried chest deep in blown-apart truck tire treads.

The smell of still-smoldering rubber would cause the staunchest stomach to overturn. So Catherine did not notice as Sara paled while she listened to the details of Grissom's dinner "date" with Sofia.

Oblivious to what was happening directly in front of her, Catherine rattled on as Sara now grasped the edges of the table firmly for support. Mechanically, she stopped her processing and slowly began to re-bag the evidence. Sara's mind was reeling. She had to get away from here. She soul cried out for escape away from the agony..

Away from hearing any more "details" from Catherine.

Away from the possibility that any minute they would return, arm in arm, gazing deeply into each other's eyes.

Away from the sight of Sofia, silently commanding the attention of every male who had ever drawn a breath, as she regally removed her wrap, batted the eyelashes that were long enough to ensnare a soul from 50 yards away, and then…as she would raise her chin slightly to shake free the waist length, blonde tresses that fell over her seductively arched shoulders.

Sara couldn't breathe.

Catherine, assuming that this sudden onset of symptoms was due to the lack of proper ventilation needed to process the truck tire evidence, was more than happy to agree to Sara's request to leave early. Truth be known, Sara had just started her second double this week, so Catherine didn't feel Grissom would mind.

Perhaps that knowledge was what confused her most at his reaction to Catherine's casual mention of Sara's early departure. He actually seemed…**irate**. _He needs to cut that girl a break. _

-----------

And so it was that Gil Grissom found himself on the way to Sara's apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: _Originally I planned to work on this chapter some more and post tomorrow. But today IS my last day of holiday vacation, and the fact is that my family ate WAY too much over the Christmas season. So as they wait patiently for their dinner, I am posting this short chapter as a thank you for my precious Chapter 11 reviewers meester, CSIgsrFANOH, CSIGeekFan, and most especially BeckyCSI who keeps me on my toes, ____ It is short, but pivotal. Look for the next post late this weekend._

_I want you to know that EVERY reviewer is important to me! You have my deepest thanks. Your comments keep me focused and help fight off the late night drowsies, as this is usually the only free time I get to write. If you have not left a review as yet, perhaps this chapter will find you hitting that encouraging button at the end. _

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And so it was that Gil Grissom found himself on the way to Sara's apartment.

Despite the desire to reach her and explain about Sofia, he found himself driving rather sedately through the crowded Las Vegas streets. He desperately tried to recall his last conversation with Lady G..

What was it _she_ had said to him at the thicket?

He remembered standing there with his hands perched inside the indent made when the first bough had broken off. He called out to her:

"Lady G.! Please! Can you hear me?"

She stood anxiously on the other side. He seemed distressed.

"Sir G., yes I can hear you. What is wrong?"

His shoulders slumped. How could he relate his torment over Sara's heart wrenching descriptions of her troubled past, without betraying her trust? What was it he really expected from this conversation?

He realized at that moment that he never really had a confidante. He had internalized his pain throughout his lifetime. Now, in his Better Place, he had the chance to really reach out to this anonymous counsel. Could he do it? Could he change his ways and ask for her guidance?

His thoughts came back to Sara.

She had been brave.

She had taken the chance.

She had reached out to him.

Perhaps this voice on the other side of the thicket could help him to…practice. Yes, he could practice opening up to Lady G. Tell her his fears. Ask for help. All without worry of raised eyebrows, or disappointed glares. Perhaps in this den of freedom, he could finally _find_ the freedom from having to be above reproach, having to have all the answers, having to be…perfect.

And so, for the first time in his life, Gil Grissom reached out in his need.

"Lady G., I am so confused, I don't know what to do."

He was so intent on reaching across the darkness, that when another chunk of ebony branch loosened beneath this grasp he absently tossed it behind him and reached out for another.

As they chatted for a while, Gil related his concern about his inadequacies in being able to help the woman he loved. He had not breached Sara's confidences, but relayed the depths of her loneliness and his concern that she would refuse his efforts to bring her closer. With each admission, boughs were loosened and discarded without notice.

As Sara listened to this wounded soul, she was forming a disturbing conclusion. The pain he was describing genuinely hit too close to home. Perhaps it was from her own experience that the words came:

_Then with no throbs of fiery pain,   
No cold gradations of decay,  
Death broke at once the vital chain,  
And freed his soul the nearest way_

– _Samuel Johnson_

Her words made him shudder.

Had they been in response to his admissions? Or were they perhaps centering on her own torment?

He realized the entire time they conversed that he had centered so closely on his need to provide comfort for Sara, that he had selfishly monopolized the exchanges with his dear confidante.

It was then that he noticed his surroundings. While the blazing sun illuminated the beachfront, he found himself in the cool shade of a small hollow. Stepping back, he fought to keep his ground as he stumbled over a small pile of ebony driftwood at the entrance to the grotto.

His gaze flew from the pile to the thicket. Had HE done that? But, the fortress had seemed impenetrable. Yet, he somewhat recalled pieces breaking off in his hand every time he…

He let out a small gasp as he shook his head to clear it.

Every time he …

It was as if his truthful sharing had caused him to remove a bit of the brambles that stood between them. If only it could really be that easy…

He rushed back into hollow, recalling his concern about her last comment.

-----------

Wandering aimlessly on the other side of the thicket, Sara, meanwhile, had not felt his absence, yet knew he had left her momentarily. So, she waited for him to return. She knew patience…she had become used to waiting for _him _to allow her to move closer for a while, only to again banish her back to her loneliness.

Her sadness at that memory permeated her tone as she responded to his current, urgent call.

She thought perhaps her tone had frightened him.

Perhaps that quotation she had offered (though meant to warn him that the love of his life sounded as if she was perilously at the end of her rope) was a bit too revealing about _her own_ current emotional state.

It saddened her to think that, perhaps, even her knight in shining armor was repelled by her admission and had done what others had always done - simply walked away.

------------

Though deep inside he knew Sara was safely in her apartment, still he could not get away from his dream's vision of her occupying the position of the unknown woman on the other side of the thicket.

And the thoughts of Sara freeing herself from the chains of _her _pain through _her own _Death almost caused him to stop breathing.

"Lady G.! Please…"

His hands trembled as he frantically searched through his arsenal of remembered succor.

When all the blandishments of life are gone,  
The coward sneaks to death, the brave live on.

-George Sewell

"Lady G….you ARE strong…you are NOT a coward…whatever it is…please talk to me… I… I _need_ you…"

----------

Standing barefoot, albeit shivering, in her robe, Sara leaned into the foggy bathroom mirror. Absently rubbing circles to clear the haze, she stood back to take in the entire scene.

This foggy scene reminded her of her Better Place. How nothing was clear as she peer through thicket. Yet somehow her romantic's heart was absolutely certain her knight, her protector, resided on the other side.

And her heart stirred again as she closed her eyes, recalling those words he had called from the other side of the thicket.

"_You are not a coward_."

and

"_I need you."_

This memory brought a single tear from its watery gate and led it down her tired countenance.

She didn't smile.

She hadn't a clue how to figure this out.

She didn't know what she was supposed to do now.

----------------

Finding the traffic jam beginning to ease, he slowly eased himself out his memories.

He was grateful that she acknowledged him through the thicket.

"Thank you, Sir G. I do not believe anyone has ever said that to me before in my entire, lonely life. Your words…they give me…_hope_"

That startling admission had caused a minor quake around him. Confused at first, he was amazed to find a halo of timber suddenly loosen around him and drift effortlessly to the ground. More of the thicket had crumbled with his heartfelt admission.

He smiled.

He had figured it out.

He now knew what he had to do.


	13. Chapter 13

Sara shivered and pulled her robe tighter around her bony frame. She made her way to the overstuffed couch and tried to wrap herself in the comfort of the timeworn quilt. In an effort to seal herself within its warmth, the excess material of the full length robe became heavily tangled in the folds of the full length coverlet.

It all happened so fast. Too weary to stand and straighten them properly, Sara yanked hard – causing her to propel herself off the couch. Continuing in a rolling movement, with one arm encased in cotton and the other stiffening to protect herself from the sudden falling motion, she bounced off the edge of the coffee table, hitting the side of her face before landing unceremoniously flat on her back onto the hardwood floor.

Momentarily, the world hid from her view. A bit groggy, she regained some perspective, foggy and somewhat detached.

Then she became vaguely aware of three distinct emotions.

First, there was fear because she could feel intense pain along the left side of her face, left shoulder, and ribs.

Then, there was panic. The pain was restricting her movement. That was when Sara realized her blanketed cocoon held her prisoner, out of reach of her cell phone.

And finally, there was … uncertainty.

Was that someone calling her name? Was someone knocking on her door?

She tried to call out but her strength had left her. She lay immobile and urged herself to stay awake.

Was someone yelling her name? Was someone banging on her door?

Sara couldn't move. Any movement created pain which was followed by a wave of nausea. She remembered feeling like this before...no…NO!...had he come back for her again?

Deep inside, a trembling began. Oh, no… she could hear footsteps outside her door. There were indistinct voices being raised. In her current condition, past and present were colliding once again. He was coming for her again. He would hurt her again. She would be unable to stop him. Again.

Robe and quilt became childhood bed linen. The knocking and calling became threatening preambles. As she lay there semi-conscious, she heard it.

A key fitting in the lock.

The rapid movement of the door swinging open.

Her name being shouted.

The footsteps pounding toward her.

_Please…don't hurt me again._

---------------------------------

Gil Grissom had parked his trusty Denali in the lot of Sara's apartment building. He quickly made his way up the stairs and found himself outside of Sara's door. His heart rate was quickening.

He was here.

He was actually going to do it.

There was so much he wanted to say…_needed_ to tell her.

He wanted to explain about Sofia.

He _needed_ to tell Sara ...

His thoughts were jarred by a muted sound of something…crashing.

Gil looked around the sky-lighted hallway quickly, in full investigator mode.

Could that noise have come from Sara's apartment?

Gil knocked on the door. After a moment, he called her name.

The silence that greeted him made his hair stand on end.

His sixth sense was screaming at him that she was in distress.

He began to pound on the door, screaming her name, begging for entrance.

When he did not receive a reply, he tried her cell and house phone. One was turned off and the other supplied a busy signal.

The phone was busy…but there was no hint of conversation happening in there, was there?

At this development, full CSI mode enveloped him. Contemplating kicking down the door, Gil was distracted by the service elevator door opening. The building superintendent stopped and tried not to look panicked as Gil rushed toward him.

Explaining his concern, the superintendent pulled out his pass keys as he started toward the door. Once Gil began speaking, the super had recalled seeing Sara and this man several times in the past as she was picked up for work on her day off. _That young lady works too hard._

As the deadbolt slipped from its locked position, the worried CSI rushed past the man without thought. They briefly stood there surveying the scene as Gil continue to call out Sara's name. His trained eye took in the neat apartment, the ruffled couch cushions, the rumpled pile of blankets…

And then he vision locked on the odd angle of the coffee table, one edge stained in…blood?

Instantly, he was in motion. In the half-second it took him to breach the gap, he saw her.

Racing to her side, he visually assessed her condition. His brain was on overload, his first aid training was instinctively taking over, but his heart…stopped…as she became hysterical and weakly tried to cower inside her fabric fortress.

"_Please…don't hurt me again. Please…don't hurt me again. Please…_"

Gil leaned back a bit in horror at her distress. He wheeled around to face the building super, and barked at him to lend a hand easing her onto the couch.

It took two men to hoist the struggling woman without causing further injury. Once on the couch, she suddenly calmed as a welcomed darkness overcame her. By this time the super was white as a sheet. Grissom suggested it would be best if he could be alone with her to avoid additional stress.

The super was glad to retreat to the hills. Plumbing and paneling he could handle. Crazy injured dames were not his forte.

After agreeing to seek medical attention for the injured woman, Gil thanked the super, who closed and relocked the door at his hasty departure.

Gil debated his options. The bruising on her shoulder and face was already turning a sickeningly purple. She was still tangled in her blanketed hell. He recalled the last time he had sat in front of this very same couch with Sara safely asleep.

What had happened here tonight?

The memory of her mournful pleas and her obvious distress caused to him to pause. Her actions suggested she had been attacked…perhaps sexually abused.

He closed his eyes against the pain.

He had been with Sofia, worried about the lab, coaxing her to reconsider resigning.

Sara had been here, enduring…he shuddered at the kaleidoscope of images invading his thoughts.

He should have been here, with her, protecting her. This time, was he indeed too late?

--------------------

His personal reasons for coming here were lost as he focused only on helping her.

He recalled her revelations about her family's history. His heart raced as he remembered how they fell asleep huddled together on the comfort of the overstuffed cushions. He ached to embrace her now, to take away this new source of pain.

Knowing the brief history she had shared, he understood how she hated hospitals. She would hate him for calling an ambulance and then finding herself on a gurney in the ER. Still, he was worried about her condition. There was only one thing to do.

He picked up his cell and hit speed dial for the morgue. Doc Robbins answered on the first ring. He had been preparing for another lengthy stint at the table when Gil's plea had him locking down his computer files and limping quickly towards his car.

Doc was personal physician for most of the team. He performed the yearly physicals and had confidentially handled Sara's health history. When she had first encountered Doc Robbins, she was as suspicious of him as she was of every other health professional since her childhood.

As he sped towards her apartment, Doc recalled their first meeting.

He had expected to collect a complete history from the standard form enclosed in all employment application packets. An irritated Sara had sauntered into the exam area and without blinking had handed him her "completed" form. Doc stared at the blank document that contained only her name and birthdate. When his eyes returned to hers, she stated flatly, "I'm fine."

He stared deep into those dark brown eyes for a while. After a moment, he set aside the form and unexpectedly took her hand. "How long were you in the system?"

Sara had cringed at his words, but he would not relinquish his hold. She squared her shoulders and replied, "Since I was five." Her gaze dared him to continue.

Doc continued to hold her hand and look her directly in the eye. "Abuse?"

Sara didn't blink. Her silence spoke volumes. She waited for him to force the issue, she would refuse, and she would be headed back to San Francisco on the evening plane.

He released her hand and sat back on the adjoining stool. "Sara," he breathed out. "Promise me. If you need…._anything_…someone to talk to about this…if you have _any_ problems physically stemming from your medical history….PROMISE me you will not wait to come and talk to me. If you give me your word, this exam is finished."

Doc sighed as he remembered her response. Her body language belied her gratitude. It was from that day on that she and Doc shared a special relationship.

This is why he was so anxious to see her. God help us; please don't let her have been….

He pushed those thoughts out of his head as he parked next to Gil's Denali and headed for Sara's apartment, his cane creating sparks on the concrete as he hurried.

----------------------------

Sara was beginning to stir when Gil heard Doc calling his name as he pounded on the door. He rushed over to admit the doctor, who brushed by him racing towards the couch.

"What happened?" he asked as he readjusted the coffee table and lowered himself to sit directly across from her injured face.

"I found her on the floor. The super let me in and helped me get her to the couch. Doc, she was…pleading…" Gil choked on the end of his sentence.

Doc did not look up. "Help me unwrap her."

Gingerly, they pulled on the edges of the quilt and found one tightly wound around the belt of her robe. Gil grabbed his pocket knife and made quick work of the tangled mass. Once released, the rest of the quilt relaxed and Doc was able to adjust her robe and move the offending blanket out of the way.

The feel of the cool air hitting her legs, added to the sensation of her robe being pulled, caused Sara to instinctively curl herself into a ball and repeat her terrified cries,

"_Please…don't hurt me again. Please…don't hurt me again. Please…_"

At this, Gil stood and paced into Sara's kitchen. He _had_ been too late to protect her.

Someone had hurt his love. He couldn't bear the pain she must have endured.

He wanted to kill the person responsible.

Doc Robbins gently called for him to give them some privacy. Gil opened the heavy front door without comment and stepped out into the sunlit hallway.

-----------------------------

Doc continued to talk soothingly to Sara as he began his cursory examination. After a bit, she calmed down as on some level she understood she was safe.

Deciding the bruising was superficial and bones had not been broken, Doc attempted to fully revive Sara to discuss the incident. He had no intention of doing an internal exam unless she was fully awake and receptive to it.

After what seemed like hours, Sara finally was coherent enough to tell Doc about the events of the evening.

She told him of her physical fatigue, which had caused the ridiculous mishap.

She surprised both her friend and herself when she continued to open up to him and told of her emotional fatigue, which occurred from her heartbreak at Gil and Sofia's dinner.

Doc Robbins bristled. He had dismissed the office gossip as just that. He knew all the players in the drama and he wasn't buying the story.

When Sara related her conversation with Catherine, Doc had to slow his breathing. Much like Gil's initial reaction, his mind was screaming: _What was Catherine thinking???_

-----------------------------

Outside the apartment door, Gil Grissom was a mess.

How was she? Did he do the right thing not to call 911? Why did he agree to leave her inside? Perhaps she needed him.

_No, she would never need me nearly as much as I need her…When I finally get in there, I am going to tell her everything…I will never leave her alone again…I'll protect her with my life…I'll love her forever…if she'll have me…if I'm not too late…_

----------------------------

Though Sara wanted to refuse medication, she was hurting. So when Doc offered to give her a shot of painkiller, she agreed. As he started to roll up the plush sleeve to administer the medication, he let out a small gasp. Sara had done fashionably well in disguising her weight loss. After giving the medication, he stated the need to check out her ribcage for bruising.

The sight of the dark bruises was not nearly as disturbing as the thin-skinned outline of the ribs themselves. He bit his lip to keep from thinking aloud.

_Oh, my dear Sara, when have you eaten last? How did I miss this severe weight loss?_

By this time, the sedative effect of the painkiller was in force and Sara had succumbed to a restless sleep.

Doc Robbins took hold of her hand and kissed it affectionately as he whispered: _Rest, my sleeping beauty. I'll go summon your prince...he'll stay with you and protect you. Just rest._

With that, he rose from his spot on the coffee table and went to retrieve Gil from the dungeon of his worry.

-----------------------------

After Doc had left with the reassurance that Sara had not been molested, he admonished Gil to stay with her tonight but to be sure to see him first thing upon returning to the lab. With thanks, Gil relocked the door and charged to Sara's side. She looked battle worn, frail, and …beautiful.

How he loved this woman.

The medication, although strong enough to cause Sara to sleep, was not strong enough to stop her from dreaming. In a drug-induced haze, the nightmares had returned with a vengeance. This time, though, Gil was standing guard over her ready to fight off her demons. As she lay on the overstuffed cushions, he stroked her hair and spoke soothingly to her.

Telling her how she had captured his heart, forever.

Relating how he had loved her, and _only_ her, for as long as he could remember.

Promising her that, if she would have him, he would always take care of her.

Speaking those words he no longer feared saying: _I need you, Sara._

Instinctively, her whimpering stopped and she unknowingly nestled her head into the crook of his neck. He breathed in the scent of her. She smelled of…sand…and sea breezes.

After a while, he had carefully wrapped his muscular arms under Sara's torso and lifted her lovingly from the couch. As he carried her towards the bedroom, he planted whisper soft kisses in her hair.

They lay together for a while before the nightmares began again to rear their ugly heads. At the first sign of distress, he calmed her by repeating a soothing refrain from Robert Burns:

_But to see her was to love her,_

_Love but her, and love forever_

He lay beside her sleeping form.

He watched the play of the early morning shadows cross her silken hair, splayed out over his outstretched arm.

His heart broke for her pain.

His conscience convicted him for his part in it.

He wondered if she would ever again trust him enough to share the rest of her story with him.

He wondered if she would ever again want _him_ enough to listen as he shared the rest of _his_ story with _her_.

He was ready to do whatever it would take to vanquish her fears.

He wanted the "happily ever after" with Sara.

_But was he too late?_

Still worried about Sara's condition, and wondering about the precarious balance of their burgeoning relationship, Gil was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he failed to notice his breathing slowing to meet the pace of Sara's exhales as she snuggled close to him.

And so he fell asleep.

And so it was that on this night, he was finally to arrive at his heart's chosen destination.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: After much thought, this will indeed be the last chapter for this story. I have decided to do a sequel which will deal with the real-life ramifications of this chapter. THANK YOU for all who reviewed and supported this story.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he felt the soft edges of a wave ripple over his sandy torso, Gil Grissom scrambled to his feet.

_NO!_

He didn't _want_ to be in his secret hideaway.

This was no longer his Better Place. Sara was not here.

He wanted to get back to Sara.

He _needed _to get back to Sara.

Gil twisted wildly and forged a path of wet footprints from the seashore to the thicket. Perhaps Lady G. was still here.

She had helped him before.

Talking to her had helped him practice voicing his true feelings.

Talking to her had helped him break down the barriers he held in place his entire life, helped him to admit his feelings for another person without fear of rejection and the pain of being alone.

Perhaps talking to her would help him find his way back to his true love.

His muscular arms frantically tried to remove another piece of the blockade, but the branch stubbornly remained locked in place. "Lady G.! Lady G! Please…I need your help. Please help me!" As he impatiently waited for her response, his thoughts were of Sara and the danger of another nightmare beginning in his absence. He wanted to be with her, to protect her.

He distractedly added the newly loosened length of ebony wood to the growing pile located outside the hollow.

-------------------------------------------

Sara had been slumped on the opposite side of the thicket, trying to halt the cascading tears that refused to stop moistening her cheeks.

Having been there alone for some time, she was feeling lost. Those feelings of abandonment, having been herded to the deepest recesses of her being, were now released – and threatening to overcome her.

This was no longer her Better Place. Grissom was not here.

She had walked the shore, trying to dispel the darkness that threatened her with the return of her nightmares. She had hoped to share her past in more detail with him before…Sofia.

She gulped back the tears of hopelessness that again threatened to overcome her.

After what seemed like an eternity, she sat and reflected on her life and thought again about…death. Was _this_ what she was to expect?

Perhaps the real hell was not so much a fiery prison yielding no escape. Perhaps the real agony came from the burning inside your soul caused by a solitary state that left you brimming with emotions, crying out for release – and having no one to share them with.

Unrequited love. The only love Sara Sidle had known throughout her life.

She was here in what used to be her Better Place.

And as with all her dreams, the illusion had faded into the stark reality of isolation.

However, now she realized that even death would offer her no solace.

She felt trapped…with no hope of rescue. So she had slumped against the thicket, staring out into her Camelot, distracted by the rhythm of her breaking heart.

---------------------------------------

That is why the far off cries were at first ignored. She had been here for most of the time since Doc Robbins had injected her with medication powerful enough to curb her pain, (and unbeknownst to her, the fact that Gil had taken up sentry duty over his love.)

She had been oblivious to his rambling professions of love, only somehow sensing deeply that she was not alone and at that moment was being cared for. This comfort had caused her to relax deeply and return to her Better Place.

And now she heard an urgent plea emerging once again from the other side of the thicket: "Lady G.! Lady G! Please…I need your help. Please help me!"

--------------------------------

Startled, Sara almost fell face forward onto the sandy surface as she called out while trying to scurry to her feet and keep her balance, "I'm here! Are you injured, Sir G.?"

Relief washed over him at her response. He hastened to continue.

"I need to leave this place, to return to my one true love. I find myself trapped here. I need to go back. Last time we talked I returned so quickly…please can you help me again?"

Without notice, more branches were loosened and discarded onto a growing cord of firewood.

Stifling a morbid laugh, Sara replied, "I can't help you. I can't even help myself…"

There was a long pause.

Once again, guilt engulfed Gil as her mournful tone sent him to high alert. He had heard _that_ tone in Sara's voice many times before the night of her DUI. He had chastised himself repeatedly for letting it go by without intervention.

He had promised himself never to let that kind of inaction happen again.

Gil took a step back to ponder his next move. He had to act quickly, but he did not want to create anymore fear or pain than Lady G. was already experiencing. _Sometimes the best way to go fast was to go slow._

Life is always about choices. Here he was, focused on returning to Sara so he could fend off her demons and confess his true feelings for her. He wanted her to know he had changed, that he was no longer going to be indecisive about acting on his feelings.

Here he was, faced with his anonymous neighbor who had shared his loneliness and was now definitely showing the need for a friend. If he concentrated on trying to help _her_, then _his_ Sara might awaken alone.

He sighed, and then a half-smile graced his face. He marveled at how Sara's influence had managed to change his outlook – and he hadn't even as yet expressed his true feelings to her.

Sara Sidle, he mused, was one of the most unselfish, most giving, most compassionate people he had ever encountered. Time and again, she had forgiven his failings and continued to believe him worthy of loving relationship, even when he doubted himself. If their situations were reversed, there was no question in his mind that she would attempt to help her neighbor.

And in sacrificing his own needs to help another, as he knew Sara would insist upon, an amazing thing occurred:

Gil Grissom truly became Sara's knight in shining armor.

----------------------------------------

"Lady G.! Please talk to me. The last time we spoke, you led me to believe you are all alone and …well…sounding….desperate. Please talk to me. I need to hear you talk to me!"

Wiping away another tear, Sara braced her hands on the next ebony branch and started to speak but the words would not come. She intended to state the trite "I'm fine", or the overused "Don't worry about me", or the irritating "Really, I'm OK". But she had no energy left to start the music and begin the dance for the umpteenth time. In the harsh reality of this sunlight, for once she could see the damage her reticence had caused to her own well being.

"Sir G., I fear my story would be neither short nor pleasant. There are specters in my life that have come to claim me. I…I am _afraid_."

As she felt her tears again begin their assault, she also felt…anger. Sara's defensive shield was beginning to break down.

Unsure of what to say during this lull in her response, he simply placed his hand on another branch and said, "Take all the time you need. I'm here. I'm listening. Please….talk to me…"

Intent on hearing her reply, he absently sent more wood to the heap at the entranceway.

Sara, also, was unaware of the continued loosening of the ebony labyrinth that stretched before her. Concentrating on her response and the release of her pent-up anger, she absently began tossing the loosened ebony branches on a pile outside the entrance to the hollow.

Her body welcomed the reprieve from the midday sun as she found herself now standing in a hollow of the thicket. It was a slightly shadowed enclosure that could best be described as the backdrop for a 'perfect summer day'.

Her intensifying emotional response, however, made her oblivious to her surroundings. Instead, she focused her thoughts solely on all the pain she had been subjected to throughout her horror-filled life.

This anguish permeated her being, causing her to lash out at her knight.

"Oh, are you _really _sure you can _handle_ it? Because I can tell you stories that will curl your hair, Mister! Everyone is always asking if I am fine, if I want to talk…but the truth is no one _really_ wants to know. Because if I were to tell you the _truth_, the unvarnished_ truth_, you would run so far and so fast just to escape what I have had to relive _EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE_!"

By now she was so agitated, she was screaming at him. All the while, she was physically tearing at the thicket, limbs flying off their entanglements. It was as if she were strangling every person who should have been there to protect her, yet turned their head away so as not to get "too involved" with this "troubled child".

Gil reacted strongly to her outburst. "Lady G.! I am _here…_I am _listening_…I am _not leaving you_…_please…TELL ME WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU_!"

By now he was so agitated, he was screaming at her. All the while, he was physically tearing at the thicket, limbs flying off their entanglements. It was as if he were trying to remove every barrier, every memory of turning his head away so as not to get "too involved" when faced with someone, like his Sara, who seemed to be "troubled".

Sobbing, Sara braced herself against the thicket. From across the cavern, Gil's heart was breaking. He needed to get to her. He did not know this person. But his limited interactions with her strengthened his resolve to help this gentle soul through this crisis.

To reassure her that every person has worth, that every person deserves love…

This need to reassure her made him pause.

----------------------------------------------

Did he _really_ believe that?

That even _HE_ was a person worthy of love?

Gil braced himself against the thicket. Tears began to form in his eyes. In his entire solitary life, he had donned the armor and fought a good fight.

But he had never let anyone close. He had to guard his fragile heart, he told himself. But now, within the shadows of the cavern, he began to face an ugly truth.

He had felt love in his life. His mother showed him care and concern. And he had been a dutiful son.

But he had not felt _worthy_ of anyone's love.

He now faced the fact that he had blamed himself for his father's departure. When his parents' quarreling had escalated, he had silently blamed himself.

He was supposed to love his father and mother, right?

Because, and he had never admitted his own dark secret –

He _hated_ his parents for always arguing around him…

He _hated_ his father for abandoning them, and making him different from the other kids…

He _hated_ that he could not do all the things the other kids did growing up…

He _**hated**_ his lonely life…then…and now…

But he was supposed to _love_ his father and mother, right? Well _weren't they supposed to be_ _worthy_ of his love? …

But no…they had quarreled and his father had left…

so it must have been _his fault_ because he hated them when they were together, right?...

_**And if he had been to blame for the breakdown of his family, who could love such child?**_

Gil stopped and stared at these thoughts as though they were displayed on a mental SMARTBOARD. The scientist in him stepped back and looked at the syllogism he had just expressed. Any freshman psychology major could see that his premises did not support his conclusion.

He blinked. It was becoming harder to breathe.

Had he just admitted to himself that he, Gil Grissom, had looked at this all wrong?

That he _wasn't_ doomed to living with loneliness anymore?

That he _could_ have happiness like all those other people around him?

**That he **_**was **_**worthy of the love of a wonderful woman like Sara?**

The intensity of his clawing increased, as he tried desperately to reach Lady G. He wanted to reach out to her and help her understand the truth that he had uncovered here. He wanted so badly to show her that there would be people in her life that would really want to know, and to love, her – no matter what was in her past.

And the pile at the entryway continued to grow.

"Lady G.! Please…I am coming…I am trying so hard to get to you…don't give up…please…talk to me…"

Sara's anger had not abated. What Gil heard next sent shivers through his body.

"Fine! You want to know about my past? _sounds of ripping wood_

You want to know what happened to me? _vigorous tearing sounds_

I have been an orphan since I was _five years old_! _sounds of wood being tossed_

And I was _GLAD_ to be an orphan. _crashing of timbers_

It was the only way my father was stopped from…

_molesting me nightly_! _sounds of walls collapsing_

As the walls around her continued to collapse, Sara shrank to the floor inconsolably. Her weeping sounds reverberated throughout the thicket, which now resembled an unfinished tunnel – being shaped from either end, with a short amount of distance left to be breached before full contact was made.

Gil waited until the shock of her revelation had dimmed somewhat.

His protective instincts screamed for him to hurry to her.

In his years as a CSI, he had come to uncover some ugly truths about the sickness of child abuse.

Those cases had always gotten to him and brought out the primal urge for revenge. Although he had heard her admission:

he was angry enough to want to kill the man who had done this to her.

No longer fearful for her safety, as she had told him what he hoped was the end of her tragic nightmare; his voice belied his heartbreak as he tried to calmly encourage her to continue.

"Lady G.?"

Sara sat surrounded by the mounting pile of broken ebony. She felt herself being buried by the growing tower. It felt strangely comforting, as if the thicket itself wished to embrace her.

"I hated him.

I hated all of them.

My father who hurt me and my mother who knew and did nothing out of her own fear.

The doctors and nurses who saw my injuries and accepted the lies.

The kindergarten teachers who didn't feel it was in their job description to worry about my injuries.

The child services workers who railroaded me like their unwelcomed burden.

_THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME!!!_

_BUT NO ONE EVER PROTECTED ME!!!_

_NO ONE EVER …LOVED…"_

She couldn't continue. But no matter. Her words would not have been heard over the din.

For upon her total admission of her pent up anger, frustration, sense of betrayal, and lack of ever really feeling loved, an amazing thing happened.

The remaining interior walls of the thicket simply fell like a house of cards.

The ebony branches, originally tightly bound and seemingly impenetrable, now lay in a heap as they softly unlatched their hold on each other. It was as if Sara's admission of her true feelings had loosened the bonds that kept her trapped in her despair.

There was a light emanating from the other side of the tunnel.

As she raised her tear-swollen eyes towards the light, she heard the voice of her knight in shining armor becoming stronger, his tenor vibrating as he enthusiastically began climbing through the rubble, the vibrating sound mimicking that of a horseback rider charging towards his destination.

She was mired in this tower made of scattered wood. Her knight was coming! She would be rescued!

He had heard her greatest secret.

He hadn't flinched.

He hadn't run away.

He hadn't thought she was unworthy of rescue.

For the first time in her life, Sara felt…peace.

-------------------------------------

After some false starts, Gil had almost scaled the pile of rubble. The dust was beginning to settle.

He continued to shout that help was on the way.

_HE_ was on the way.

Asking her to hold on.

Asking her to _trust_ him.

Sara was unable to speak. Her emotional catharsis had left her weakened and somewhat in shock. She continued to hear his soothing voice.

He hadn't run away.

He hadn't run away.

He was coming to rescue her.

At that moment, Gil Grissom reached the pinnacle of the rubble.

Their eyes locked.

Their breaths were drawn in simultaneously.

They stood…staring.

Their previous conversations began running through their minds.

_Had she really thought about suicide?_

_**---------------------------------------------Had he really been unsure how to start a relationship?**_

_Had she really admitted she was molested? _

_**--------------------------------------------Had he really wanted to leave this place to be with **_**her**

_Had she really always wanted to be rescued by a knight…in armor…like __**I have always worn**_

_**---------------------------------------Had he really just scaled that rubble to rescue me? My knight?**_

_Thank God she is all right…how I __love__ this woman!_

_**-----------------------------------------------------Thank God he came for me…how I **__**love**__** this man!**_

He quickly descended the pile of wood and carefully extracted her from the ebony tower that had her imprisoned. He scooped her up in his arms and swung her with abandoned, all the while treasuring the feel of her in his arms.

Sara smiled widely through her tears as she reveled in the feel of his arms around her.

_This is a dream, and I never want to wake up!_

They clung to each other as they made their way back toward their safe haven, Gil wanting Sara to regain her strength out of the midday sun. His hands never released her from his grip as he lowered them both to the sandy shadows.

As the beachfront wildlife cawed and fluttered in the background, the waves were building onto the shoreline. The wind had picked up slightly causing the sand to envelope the landscape in a softly glittering whirlwind. This air movement whistled softly through the fully-opened tunnel, causing a lilting natural song to play in the background. The whistling movement caused the vegetation that had been hidden above the thicket to rustle, sending a torrent of native butterflies winging their way overhead towards the shoreline.

Sara shivered slightly. She did not know if she was really chilled or if she was reacting to the fulfillment of her heart's deepest longing.

Gil immediately enveloped her in his strong arms, lightly running his hands over her back to warm her. This action, however, unleashed the deepest longing of his heart. He pulled back and smiled as he lifted his hand to remove a runaway curl from her downcast eyes. His action caused her to lift her face. She looked deep into his eyes.

He was no longer lost.

He was home.

He used the stack of wood she had discarded at the entrance to build a small bonfire. He had wanted to warm her. But Sara didn't need a fire to keep warm.

Her love for him would do that.

They sat, huddled close in front of the fire.

Butterflies continued to hover in the distance.

The seabirds cawed and cooed on the shoreline.

The waves pounded gently onto the sandy shore.

Keeping her close, he whispered in her ear, reciting from Thomas Moore:

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,  
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.

And then, in the shadows of their island retreat –

Gil and Sara shared their first expression of the depth of their true feelings for each other.

And made love – to their _true_ love - for the first time in their lives.

Today…they had truly made this _their_ Better Place.

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End file.
